Thirteen Hallowed Nights: The Complete Collection
by Corvus no Genmu
Summary: Envy, Wrath, Lust, Avarice, Sloth, Gluttony, Pride, Family, Friends, Fortune, Fractures, Fate, and Awakenings. All thirteen hallowed nights gathered here in a single volume for your reading pleasure with a special Author's Cut ending.
1. The First Night: The Envy

**Disclaimer:** I own what is my own.

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"_Here we go, the world is spinning. When it stops, it's just beginning. Sun comes up, we laugh`and we cry. Sun goes down, we all die…_"

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**Thirteen Hallowed Nights**

**The First Night:**

_"The Envy"_

By Corvus no Genmu

He blinked his eyes once… twice… three times before settling back against his chair and pressing eject on the remote control. He had known what to expect having been told of the contents by those who urged him to watch it anyway, thinking him foolish enough to be baited by such mediocrity as a childish dare. No, he wanted to see for himself the dreaded video that was whispered in the dark corners of the internet where many had joked of its true potential and spoke of their disgust at the tape's horrible images and spoke nevermore since.

He had seen them all, never pausing for reconsideration's sake. The burning tree, the eye of the equine, the lamb with a missing leg, the human forms swimming beneath a sea of velvet, as well as the glowing white ring. He had seen them all without blinking and had formed his own opinion.

For such a young child, so troubled by insomnia and already surrounded on all sides by death, she had a very artistic mind even if the work was not of her own true design. It was beautifully done; the images all had a message in them. He could immediately interpret some but a few would require more serious contemplation, perhaps even a dash of meditation, on his part. It would take time but that was something he had plenty of these days.

Almost immediately after the tape was ejected, the phone began to ring. He looked towards it and followed the cord to the wall where it laid just short of the jack-port. He stood and moved noiselessly to the phone and pressed the speaker button.

"_Seven days…_"

He smiled, a faint mist coming from his mouth as he spoke. "I'll be waiting."

The phone line remained connected for a moment, as though the other side was confused not so much by his answer but in the way he spoke. His was an eager voice like a child looking forward to reuniting with an old friend and the other side could not comprehend this.

The line went dead.

* * *

The days went by, those who gave him the tape were long gone out of this life and, through word of mouth or by other means, he had become the opposite of the pariah he had always been. The people of his high school were curious as to the contents of the video, whether or not he had heard the voice of the 'Demon of the Well' speak to him through his telephone, or if he had already begun to see the visions.

He was silent throughout the time, sparing them a glance or two before focusing on his schoolwork or on other mundane interests. Had the previous viewers lived many would have assumed it nothing more than lies that he had watched the tape, for no one in their right mind could be as calm as he was. His lack of fear was odd but his not trying to save himself was far more so. He hadn't questioned anyone about watching the tape for themselves and, had anyone asked, he would have told them the truth.

He had destroyed the tape.

A good smashing of the hammer was all it needed really.

The fear he could live with, if it kept the school population away from him as the week went on, and the visions themselves were nothing short of surreal. He had been watching a movie file on his laptop when a fly had suddenly flown into the video-screen before flying right out of the laptop itself. He snatched it out of thin air and held it by the wing to stare at it in wonder. Its body flickered in and out of focus, like a television going out of sync with the channel.

He fed it to the frog in his science class.

There were others that came and went, from trees suddenly bursting into flame but on a second glance would be completely unharmed to severed fingers floating in his pickle jar. He took them in stride and got rid of any foodstuffs that were expired in such a grisly fashion. Near the end of the week, students began to give him a wider birth than usual, as though they were afraid that just being near him would pass the curse onto them.

The frog's unexplainable demise only served to solidify their belief.

Now he was here, resting in his chair, a cup of lukewarm tea swirling lazily in his hand as he stared into the tome he was reading with not a care in the world as the minutes ticked onwards toward his doom. His ears twitched at the sound of static filling the air but he didn't look up from his book, choosing to only spare a glance towards the mirror in which he could see the reflection of the television's screen and the well it displayed. He sighed, a faint mist escaping from his mouth, and turned his attention back towards his book.

He turned a page and took a sip out of his teacup before setting it down on the table beside him. His eyes stayed on the small script until he could feel more than see her form standing before him. He raised an eyebrow before marking his page with a bookmark and setting the book down and looking at her for the first time.

She was dripping wet and was wearing a plain white dress that matched the hue of her skin perfectly. By the condition of her hands and arms, and the apparent lack of skin tone, he knew that she was nothing more than a husk, a walking corpse brought to this world by a power not her own. Her black hair, falling down past her waist, moved almost on its own accord, revealing her scowling face to him, before their eyes met.

He blinked and waited for her to kill him and was marginally surprised to see her scowl deepen and her eyes harden. He continued to watch her unblinking before yawning to himself. It was rather late after all, near the midnight hour and past the time he usually reserved for rest. She was trembling and the fingers of her hands were twitching as her hair seemed to waver in an unfelt wind. He idly noted that the floor of his living room was now quite wet when he felt her small form climb up onto his lap.

_How dare this boy be so… so… _She had no idea what is was or even how to phrase it. Ever since her death, she hadn't encountered anyone that was so indifferent to her appearance. He just looked at her as though he was waiting for her to speak but she wouldn't, she couldn't, not as she was now. He didn't scream, he didn't rot away into a soaking corpse, he just sat there staring at her, infuriating her with the same emotionless face she had used herself when she was alive. If her powers would not work against him, than she'd resort to mundane means if she had to in order to be heard!

Her hands reached toward his throat but his own grasped her wrists and she flinched back at the strange sensation that traveled up through her shoulders. The television made a loud noise like the whine of a broken car motor as she stared down at her arms, her perpetual scowl melting away for the first time in decades as she looked down upon plain, ordinary flesh, fingers whole and complete. The change wasn't instantaneous but it wasn't slow either. It was like watching water turn slowly into steam.

He released his grip on her wrists and placed a hand gently upon her knee, earning a shiver from her as she felt sensation return to her legs. His other hand reached up to her hair and stroked it gently, water condensing into steam as hair that was once compared to piano wire returned to its silken nature. Throughout it all, the whine from the television grew into a terrible sound as the world within the screen began to tremble and shake, bloodied water bursting up from the stone well.

A sudden agonized scream too high-pitched to be human echoed from the darkness abyss only to be swiftly overtaken by the neighing cries of a noble equine as hardened hoofs stamped down brutal retribution and yet nothing was there but a well gushing great geysers of water that slowly began to run red with blood though it be still a colorless world behind the glass.

Her eyes met his once more, shock evident on her distorted face, as he smiled and leaned forward to tenderly kiss her forehead. Salty water fell past her cheeks, flushed with warmth as mortal blood began to pump through her veins once more, but it wasn't water from the well. Her eyes, once nothing more than dark orbs of obsidian even in life, were now a shade of blue that was wet with tears that slowly fell down her cheeks. The screeching in the background cut off as the television screen depicted the well collapsing upon itself as the landscape around it fell away into oblivion, the sound of a equine stampede echoing though none could be seen in the colorless void.

In the trashcan outside the house, a cassette crushed beyond recognition melted as the tape, somehow still in one piece, burst into flames. Across the entire globe, the phenomenon continued as more tapes began to burn even when attempts were made to salvage them. In the end, the only thing left out of any one of those cursed tapes were piles of ash that were soon to be swept away by the four winds. She knew that somehow this boy; no she couldn't call him that if he did what she always believed to be impossible; this angel had given her a gift she could never repay.

He had set her free.

Her power was there but it was there at her beck and call, to rise and ebb as she so wished and her flesh, she could feel! Her clothes, his clothes, the heat their bodies were generating, and pain; actual physical discomfort! For the first time, she felt pain and, for but a moment, it scared her more than being in the well, more than those long seven days it took for her to die, but then she realized that now, in this new life, she was more alive than she had ever truly been. Her tears fell harder and she collapsed against him.

She didn't know how he did it, or if perhaps it was something of her own accord, but she needed this feeling of being alive to continue and she was too afraid to let it go even if it meant more emotional pain when the boy would eventually push her away. He didn't. He pulled her closer to him, wrapping an arm tight around her waist, the other hand continuing to stroke her soft hair. Her eyelids felt heavier, was she tired? She was actually feeling physical and mental exhaustion? A yawn amidst the tears answered her unvoiced questions. His chest bounced against her, his laughter contained behind a closed yet smiling mouth.

"Rest Samara," he whispered, "and dream beautiful dreams."

Tired eyes blinked up at him, the remaining tears falling, and she tried to ask him so many questions but she knew not a single one that was the most important. What was he that he could withstand her power as he did? How had she been freed from her self-induced torment? Why had this happened now or better yet, why he had even done this wonderful thing at all, but the desire to sleep was strong and having no experience in fighting it, she slowly began to fall into the welcoming embrace of unconsciousness.

But she had sense enough to ask at least one question.

"Who… are you…?" His shining emerald eyes sparkled through the ivory locks of his hair and his smile was enough to match the sun.

"I'm... whatever you want me to be," he whispered, pressing his lips once more to her forehead. "Call me Jacque."

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_Kindness melts away the wretched slimes of envy…_

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**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

_The Ring_

_The Ring_ has always been a particular favorite horror film of mine. To me, there are two types of horror films out there. The kind where the monsters are so fantastical in design and origin that to fear their stepping out from the shadows to kill you where you stand is but the result of an overactive imagination. The other are those of _true_ horror, the kind that are as much like me as they are like you, the man you'll meet behind a counter, the woman taking your order at a restaurant, the small child standing alone in the park… the kind of monsters that where a human face because that's precisely what they are: human.

_Samara_

When I first saw _The Ring_ I admit, I was scared shitless. Heck, to this day I've never dared to watch Samara's cursed video from beginning to end. Ever. Better safe than sorry I say. Regardless, unlike most movie monsters I did not feel any particular animosity towards Samara… rather, I truly felt sorry for her and what became of her. She was gifted with a terrible power and she was damned for it, her body becoming a host to a demon who used her power for its own twisted ends. Very few stories that involve Samara ever try and look into the aspect that beneath her curse, there is a scared little girl that only wants to be loved.

_Envy_

I chose the sin of envy for Samara because really, what other sin is there for her? Yes, wrath could be attributed to her but consider Samara's actions in the films. In _The Ring 2_, Samara does everything in her power to get Rachel not for revenge or for actually escaping the curse, but because she felt that Rachel would be the mother she never had.

_The Horse Talisman_

I chose the horse talisman for two reasons. First, Samara herself drove many horses to their deaths because of how they kept her from sleeping at night in the barn and I thought it rather ironic that a horse would be the one to heal her and give her, her humanity back. Second, the Horse is "the healer that expels all aliens forces within", and generally this would pertain only to diseases or poisons but as seen in the show, if infused with enough power it can heal mortal wounds with ease so is it so hard to imagine that an overcharge by an Incarnation would allow it to heal a body cursed with a parasitic demon?


	2. The Second Night: The Wrath

**Disclaimer:** I own what is my own.

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_"She used to take evil spirits out from a person and feed them to her daughter_…_"_

_"Kayako was killed because she was foolish. I did not make her what she is now."_

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**Thirteen Hallowed Nights**

**The Second Night:**

_"The Wrath"_

By Corvus no Genmu

He looked up towards the modern Japanese house and his frown deepened more at the sheer amount of energy he could feel perpetuating it. Even though he was not one to see these things easily but he knew the darkness was there. The silence that seemed to surround the house was evident enough but the fact that there were no signs that any animals were near the area in some time was as evident as the sky being called blue. He glanced upwards and saw a flock of ravens go out of their way to fly around the properties of the house with the few stragglers unable to fully miss it lose some feathers in the process of a very quick retreat.

That, in itself, unnerved him if only slightly.

He looked down beside him, at the young girl dressed in a plain blue kimono, decorated with flower blossoms colored a brighter shade. The both of them had agreed that white wasn't her color, not anymore, and he found it amusing at how often she'd change her mind about what color was her favorite, though green seemed to come around the most out of all the rest as was evident by the hair band that kept her black hair pulled back and out of her face. However, now was not a time for amusement but concern. He knew what he was getting into and he had spared her no details of what could, and most likely would, happen.

He would not emulate her adopted parents; he would look out for her because he actually cared about her, now that she was here beside him. He had offered to find her a home with people he knew would love her unconditionally no matter the past that she'd keep hidden from them but she had refused, clutching him like he was the only lifeline she had in this terrible storm known as life. So he kept her by his side, against his better judgment. His conscience was speaking to him now whether the idea of having her here with him on this dangerous escapade he was about to undertake was a sound one.

_She'd be safer back at the hotel_, he thought, _but will they follow her through me?_ He didn't know the full power of the family but he knew of the victims or lack of them as it was. Unlike his young-bodied charge, they hadn't left much behind to show just how they killed or in what manner the victims had passed.

If they passed on at all.

He sighed and met her blue eyes with his green ones. She shook her head, already knowing the question he was going to ask. Her grip on his hand tightened and her eyes seemed to shine. That was another thing. She was becoming far too attached to him and he worried of how she'd react when he finally dies.

He dared not imagine his own reaction if she were to die before him.

He sighed once more and turned to face the house, a sense of foreboding trying to poke its way into his heart but he pushed it back with practiced ease. What was life without a bit of thrill now and again? He whispered to her to keep close but walk two steps behind him so that he'd enter the house first. She made a quip about lady's first and he couldn't help but laugh. In the past two months that she had come into his life, she'd find a way to put a smile on his face and a bit of laughter in his ancient soul.

That alone made her more precious than silver and solidified his bond to her.

They walked slowly towards the house, pausing just before the door. Knowing it was already futile to ask her to retreat to safety; he stepped up onto the porch and, opening the door, stepped inside towards his doom with his companion following two steps behind. He shivered, a foggy breath escaping him before normal temperatures were met with relief from both visitors of the house. He looked down at her as she looked up at him, her blue eyes sparkling with fear, her palms sweaty. He smiled reassuringly at her and said that they would be fine, but it wasn't herself that she was worried about.

She knew he had a… gift? Yes, gift was definitely the right word to use. His gift was what granted her, her freedom and it scared her that he had such power to do the impossible. _He will be fine_, she assured herself, _if he can stand against me, he can stand against anything_. But the process of being human introduced to her many new varieties of emotions that she had never felt before, doubt being one of them. She knew as much as he told about his gift, which in itself was not much at all, and she was concerned about this escapade.

Oh, she didn't fear for herself, not one bit. If she died, it wouldn't be that different… except… She looked up at her savior. Dying could mean a return to the well but it _would_ mean being separate from him.

She didn't like that, not at all.

She had asked him why they had come here, to the opposite side of the world, on an adventure that he didn't know if he'd walk away from, and he told her not to be too concerned over him, that he would be okay. Their first meeting proved that he cared little about himself and the way he acted whenever she spoke of how he could die from this… family… he'd shrug it off as though it were nothing out of the ordinary for him. If he didn't care enough about himself to try and keep himself safe, she'd be the one to protect him.

With everything she had.

He started walked slowly to the living room but soon paused, nose twitching at the scent of… blood? No, he shook his head and took another whiff, not blood though it was just as sharp to the nose.

Days old smoke… freshly poured gasoline…

He glanced down at the floor, burns were evident through most of the front foyer but someone, or perhaps in this case something, had managed to put out the flames in time to keep the house safe. However, there was still gasoline puddles hidden in the odd corner and a small spark would be all it would take to get the house on fire once more. He looked to her, and saw that she too was aware of the gas and had her eyebrow raised in confusion. Wasn't this what they had planned on doing?

No, he shook his head and gently pulled her along to the living room, a slight change of plans was in order. He smiled to himself, perhaps rushing into pyromania wouldn't be necessary if what he read about the family was correct. He sat down on the couch and motioned for her to do the same. He pulled out a small book and looked to her, seeing both her confusion and delight at the familiar text.

If he remembered correctly, they had left off on chapter three. Without answering her unspoken question, he began to read the text on the crisp pages of the book, pulling her close to him with one arm. He read for some time, pausing at the end of every chapter to see if his voice, notorious for its soft-spoken nature, had lulled her to sleep but the fervor of her desire to keep him safe from harm pushed back the lulling power of slumber. He had noted her starting to nod off at times but had managed to keep herself awake with a firm shake of the head. It wasn't until he had nearly reached the end when she had finally succumbed to sleep, still unused to its strengths on her.

She never noticed the young boy that sat on Jacque's opposite side, also leaning over to look down upon the book and its illustrations. He closed it slowly and looked down at the boy beside him, who looked no younger than Samara, and gave a single raised eyebrow at the sight of his obscenely white skin. The boy stared up at him, a neutral expression on his face, as his mouth opened to let out a loud feline yowl. Jacque frowned and with little hesitation, smacked the boy hard in the back.

The boy coughed, blinking in shock before coughing again. He leaned over, his coughing growing louder and hoarser until something flew out from his throat and landed on all fours on the floor. The cat hissed and shook itself from the water that coated it before turning burning yellow eyes first upon the duo of Jacque and his charge. It hissed again, revealing very sharp needlelike teeth, before facing the boy who stared at it in surprise and wonder. Letting out a miniature feline roar, the cat pounced upon the boy, claws flashing, and slashed at the stunned boy's face.

The boy screamed and fell back onto the floor, startling Samara awake. Jacque placed a hand over her mouth and shook his head, his eyes never leaving the feline as it circled the boy, fur raised in righteous kitty fury. But the boy was paying little attention to the cat that had once been his pet, his hands were touching his face were the cuts were bleeding not blood, but droplets of white. With every drop that fell, the more the boy kneeling in front of the duo began to gain more of a normal flesh tone until, eventually, there was a seemingly ordinary Japanese boy kneeling down in front of them, tears running down his face.

He looked up at the duo sitting on the couch, smiling even as tears fell down his face and his western clothes melted into a traditional white kimono made up in the way of the deceased.

"Arigatou…"

And he was gone.

The cat sniffed, seemingly satisfied, and sat back on its haunches, licking a paw clean before looking up at the one who had freed it from the boy's throat. _So, what now?_ It seemed to ask.

A scream unlike anything ever heard by either of the pair had them both on their feet and looking about before their eyes fell upon the tall figure standing up on the stairs, long black hair wavering as crooked hands flayed about. The woman turned towards the stairs, falling onto her hands and knees, crawling/sliding down them until she reached the foyer. Her neck bent at an unnatural angle, dark shadows swarming around her form as she screamed once more in her in death-rattle voice. She rose upwards, the shadows lifting her up into the air, and reached for them, advancing slowly like a snake on the hunt.

Samara gripped his hand tight and moved to put herself between him and the woman, her own powers shining like steel in her eyes, but he pushed her back behind him. His eyes were narrowed and sparkling but he was frowning with determination. He would not let this woman harm her, she knew this even before he said it just by the look of his eyes, and by the way it was acting the feline looked ready to back him up. It was standing on her other side, back arched and ears back, nearly spitting with rage.

Motioning to the cat, he stepped forward, closer and closer to the woman as she rattled in her broken voice while the small obsidian feline moved to stand between Samara and the woman towering above them all. Jacque looked up at the woman, either unimpressed or just plain uncaring of her stature and nature over him, and reacted in a way that surprised everyone.

He punched her.

The force of the blow was hard enough in the stomach that she was actually pushed back against the living room wall, eyes wide with shock and her death rattle choking on itself. The wall was bent inward from her impact but on either side of her bony torso was a deep hole as though a pair of oxen horns pierced the woodwork. A snort of a disgruntled bovine, a swish of the tail and yet there was naught but Jacque with his hand still clenched tight though faint traces of dust fell from his hand like dark snow.

The wretched woman's stomach convulsed once, twice, before she fell onto her hands and knees once more and up heaved the contents of her stomach. They were as slimy as they were dry and they were as dry as they were slimy. They had as many legs as a snake and as few limbs as a centipede with eyes of red, black, and white staring listlessly around them. They twitched and shook themselves mightily along the ground, squealing and shrieking in agony of the light of the sun that kept the darkness around the woman from embracing them.

Whatever they were, Samara knew they weren't human and found them disgusting but was unnerved as their eyes drew over towards her and gazed at her with a familiar hunger that sent cold shivers down her back. She took a small step back, barely moving at all, and held her breath as the demons began to draw close until a loud yowl made them pause. The cat was still standing before her as her living defense against them.

Its fur standing on end and spittle flying from its hissing mouth, the black feline slinked forward, tail lashing, as the demons began to back away in fear. He held out a hand and the cat paused in an instant, looking up towards Jacque in confusion before grinning widely, its mouth resembling a fanged crescent moon. It slowly backed away to sit beside Samara with all the dignity of royalty.

It knew what was coming.

Jacque's emerald orbs seemed to flash with light as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a simple bottle of water, which he was quick to upend over the demons writhing on the floor. Steam and smoke rose up in a quick explosion as the demons burst into flames, the water eating upon them like acid until there was nothing left.

He smiled to himself. He honestly didn't think that would have worked but he was glad of it all the same. Holy water was holy water, no matter the faith in question. He turned his eyes back to the woman and frowned, she was gasping for air that she didn't need, her skin still an unnatural pale tint and her neck bent at that same awkward angle as before. He stepped towards her but had to jump to the side as she tried to swipe at him with her hand. When she tried again, her grabbed her by the wrist and held firm, his eyes cold as he reached down with his other hand and forcibly grabbed her neck and twisted.

The sound of bones sliding back against each other was loud in the silence that followed as the woman stiffened in his grip before suddenly gasping for air without the distinct croak in her throat. Jacque released her then and stepped back and watched as she slowly slumped to the ground, gasping for air and shivering as spirit fire began to appear around her.

Silence.

A swarm of glowing orbs floated upwards gently, several flying straight up towards the sky, pausing only long enough to bob a 'thank you' at Jacque, while a remaining pair began to circle one another and seemed to embrace each other, their shine increasing in luminescence. The orbs separated and circled merrily around Jacque's head, one bouncing atop his hair while the other pressed against his cheek. Jacque blushed faintly at the feeling of warm lips pressing against his face, a hand roughly brushing his untamed locks before smiling as the orbs of light danced merrily with one another as they floated upwards towards the ceiling. He smile grew with their disappearance before a sudden sound of tears and despair brought a frown to his face as his emerald orbs focused once more on the woman lying on the ground before him.

"Go-Gomen… Gomen nasai… gomen nasai… gomen nasai…"

He stared at her for a moment in silence before sighing to himself and looking skyward, his eyes questioning something that Samara could not see. However, that did not mean that she didn't feel… Her…? Yes, that's what it was, a Her. But who was She? Samara didn't know it but she was at that very next moment, the closest she would ever physically be to Heaven.

A ray of sunlight shined through the window, bouncing off every reflective surface it could find until it finally fell upon the weeping woman. Samara's eyes widened in shock as she watched the woman shrink in… no… she wasn't shrinking, she was getting younger until she was nothing more than a babe before vanishing out of sight.

"So… a second chance at life…" She looked to Jacque, whose eyes were still skyward. "Interesting choice…" He looked to Samara and seemed to have suddenly realized something, his eyes growing dark. His eyes traveled past her down towards the feline sitting beside her feet. "Nibi."

The cat's grin grew and Samara took notice of a second tail appearing beside the cat's original as a pair of feathered wings, black as midnight, sprout out from its back. The cat licked its paw and shot a look up to the boy as though to ask again, _What now?_

His eyes narrowed. "What?"

The cat sniffed and looked up towards Samara before looking back at Jacque and sniffed once more before yawning. Clearly, it wasn't interested in Jacque's assumption of what it wanted. The boy frowned but didn't push it further and looked towards Samara. "Let's go back to the hotel and rest. Then, we'll go to that Cherry Blossom Festival." He smiled, the light back once more in his eyes.

She positively beamed at him and wrapped her arms tight around his waist. He was safe, that was all that mattered to her, that's all that would ever matter to her. The cat grinned and jumped up to land on his shoulders, letting itself hang loosely on his neck. She couldn't help but giggle at Jacque's disgruntled look before gazing upon the cat itself who smiled warmly at her and purred. She blinked in surprise, few animals ever came near the two of them and those that did, did not treat them warmly though there was a few… strange animals that had acted differently towards them, as if they knew that neither Jacque nor Samara would hurt them.

The cat of two tails was obviously no different than them, though the wings were rather odd. As little of an education she had received in her last life, she knew that cats, especially cute ones as this, did not have wings like a bird.

The cat seemed aware of her confusion and lazily flicked one of its tails against Jacque's ear.

Jacque himself ignored the cat and took her hand gently in his own and, together, they left the house behind; all three completely unawares of the eyes that followed them. The eyes of the dead and damned. A steel-clawed hand stretched out of the shadow before pulling itself back, the light of the sun burning it. The eyes glared the death they wished to place upon the trio. Though it were but an agent to the Master, it too was a powerful being, a champion of its own forces and it recognized what Jacque had done.

The house ignited into an inferno that raged despite the fire-fighters' best efforts and only died when there was truly nothing left to burn.

* * *

_A patient hand rectifies the wrath of the wicked._

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**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

_The Grudge_

Another Japanese film turned American, _The Grudge_ is another unique favorite of mine only in that it has now solidified the idea to _never_ under _any_ circumstances buy a house and/or apartment without looking into _all_ of its sordid history. Aside from that, I've always found it particularly interesting that Japanese horror films make most American ones look like the stuff you see on a Saturday morning cartoon (coughGoosebumpscough) and I won't lie, that movie freaked me the Hell out the first time I saw it, especially since a friend of mine had recently moved into a house that was already occupied…

_Kayako & Toshio_

It is rare in most horror films to feature a duo of parent and child being the _monsters_ rather than the _victims_. Often it's been one versus the other like Freddy and his mother but in reverse there was Mrs. Vorhees and her son Jason… Anyway, most might argue on how Jacque dealt with Toshio and his mother Kayako but I'll bring up this point. Did it not sound like Toshio had a literal _cat_ in his throat? A good slap and there was the nekomata Nibi whom many Naruto fans should recognize at least by inspiration. As for Kayako, in all of the _Grudge_ films, no one, and I mean no one, has actually tried to physically fend her off. Most of the time, they're scared shitless and are too busy trying to get away from her rather than actually fighting her so there you go.

_Wrath_

Okay, show of hands, who doesn't think that the sin of wrath doesn't pertain to _The Grudge_? … Those of you who just raised your hands, Takashi Shimizu would like a word with you.

_The Ox Talisman_

The ox talisman grants enhanced strength, generally three to four times that of the person using it and when over-charged… it allows the ability to physically strike against those which otherwise cannot be struck. Hate to bring up the comparison but it's rather like having a normal-type pokemon being able to actually _hit_ a ghost-type. As previously stated, as no one would ever actually _fight_ against Kayako, it made sense to use the most physical one against her.


	3. The Third Night: The Lust

**Disclaimer:** I own what is my own.

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_"What can you do, that cannot be undone…?"_

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**Thirteen Hallowed Nights**

**The Third Night:**

_"The Lust"_

By Corvus no Genmu

He hadn't walked these halls in what felt like lifetimes. The castle halls hadn't really changed much since his last visit all those years ago but he didn't really expect it to. The stones walls were covered in dust, the light of the torches casting strange warping shadows that watched his every step like a viper would a mouse. The glassless windows revealed a teaming forest where the creatures that dwelled therein made their presence known this moonless night with howls and roars, a symphony of the midnight hour. He'd rather spend a bit of time admiring the view but he the night was not eternal even in this place and he would have to be back before the dawn rose and with it his sleeping charge. He cast a glance behind him.

The feline was following dutifully behind with gleaming eyes, one dark like the ocean waters and the other bright like freshly poured amber. Its tails, two in number and both equally twice the length of its body, made strange motions in the air as it moved, faint sigils appearing and disappearing with a casual flick as the shadows writhed around it, angry and impressed. Feathered wings flexed and suddenly the cat was airborne and was upon Jacque's shoulder with a pleased purr.

"Like this place do you?" A deeper purr was his answer and he couldn't help the small smile as he scratched the cat's chin. "Well, pray she favors cats as much as she does bats." He stopped before a large door before which stood a pair of old men both dressed in the attire of retainers of the castle, butlers by the primness of their clothes but he could see the soldier in them. The stiffened spines, the narrowed eyes, and the hands clenched and ready to tear him asunder at the slightest inclination. He made no move to open the doors and merely stood there.

Waiting.

A wind blew by though this section of the hall was bare of windows and both retainers narrowed their eyes, ears twitching as they listened to quiet and powerful whispers. They glanced at their brother-in-arms before their dark red eyes fell upon Jacque. Silent as the grave, they turned to face each other and with a simple push, opened their respected doors.

Jacque started forward but was stopped by a pair of arms crossing before him. He glanced up and saw crimson eyes set upon the feline laying across his shoulders. His eyes narrowed the tiniest bit and he glanced at the cat that no longer sported its usual amused grin. Sweat glistened on the brows of the retainers but they met the stare of the nekomata regardless of their fear.

"Nibi." Jacque stroked the tails of the cat soothingly. "I've heard that the kitchen staff will be serving a midnight meal, an Amazonian dish if I'm not mistaken." An amber eye glanced upon him but though it was skeptical, hunger still linger in the golden depths. The nekomata leapt from his shoulders and lazily floated down to the floor and raising its tails high, marched off towards the kitchen. Jacque looked back at the retainers who stood relaxed on either side, both heaving sighs of relief as he stepped through the open doors which closed slowly behind him of their own accord.

_The throne room certainly hasn't changed much…_ He surmised. _Regal carpets fit for a sultan,_ _torch lights made of the finest platinum…_ _That same canopy…_

The canopy itself was immensely tall, covering the throne from top to bottom with plenty of cloth to spare and only by the candle lights within it was Jacque given any clue of the throne's occupancy. He walked forward until he stood at the bottom of the small set of stairs that led up to the throne. Once there he inclined his head ever so slightly not as a bow of submission but a nod of recognition between two old friends.

"So… after all these years you decide to come back… like that?"

Jacque glanced down at himself. He thought he was dressed rather smartly, a bit more than usual he'd like to think considering the fact that what he considered as casual would be considered as business-only. "Too little?"

"Too much." Was the dry retort. "She'll make a mess of it before she moves on to you."

"Ah…" By his tone, Jacque knew that he wasn't saying anything positive. "I take it then she hasn't grown to liking the idea?"

"Liking…?" A loud scoff, the rustling of curtains as an imposing shadow leaned down on his throne bearded head resting on a fighter's fists. "Be thankful that I chose to not inform her of this when she was younger and her memories of you still fresh in her mind… I would be missing a castle at this point I'm sure…"

He tried to keep the hopeful wishing from his voice. "From excitement?"

"Impatience, but that would have been does not exist here." A heavy sigh, a black shade reclining tiredly against a golden throne. "She is young still, and like all young people she is too foolish to realize the depths of her own mortality…"

Jacque tilted his head, eyes closed in thoughtful silence. "She has several years ahead of her, more so if she were to accept."

"You'll find that earning her acceptance will be the hardest task to undertake, my friend… She will not believe in you or in your exploits past…"

"Such little faith in your daughter?" Jacque smiled, a teasing lilt in his words, one eye opening the tiniest bit to peak up at the shadow thrown upon the curtain of the canopy.

"As much as you."

The corner of Jacque's lip twitched, revealing a hint of lengthy canine but he kept his soft smile despite the cruel words. "Touché."

The foreboding shadow leaned back on his throne, tired of the conversation as the candles dimmed around him, enveloping him in a stronger darkness. "If you truly think you can tame my daughter, then you are a bigger fool than I first thought you to be… but perhaps it would be best if you spoke with her personally on the matter. Though be warned, she is not as she once was when last you met, and I fear that I can no longer foresee her reaction to you."

Jacque's smile turned sad, his emerald eyes losing their shine despite the torch lights. "Shall I bring her here so that you may tell her yourself?"

The shadow stilled and knew in that instant that his words had been his own undoing. "No. She will find out for herself soon enough."

Jacque sighed but did not press the matter, turning so that he no longer saw the shadow of his old friend. "I assume then that she has left the castle?" He turned and started to walk away from the hidden throne without waiting for a dismissal.

"You think it will be easy to find her?" The curtains ruffled to a father's amused chuckle. "Not even the best of the Kreutz family can track her when she doesn't want to be found."

Jacque paused and glanced back over his shoulder. "True… but if she is even a little the girl she once was then there is only one place she'll really go where she can feel safe from the cruel hands of fate."

"Oh?" Another amused chuckle from the dark abyss. "Where do you think she's gone to then?"

Jacque grinned.

* * *

The Highlands of Scotland are truly a sight to behold, especially in the early hours of the morning where the dawn's light paints the cold twilight skies with streaks of pleasant warmth. The roaming hills and mountains are each unique unto themselves not merely because of their geography, for really what lands could ever be compared to another? No, it was not the land itself but its history remembered and forgotten, ancient and young, that made each and every hill and mountain different from each other.

The mountain known by the Gaelic tongue as Sgurr a' Mhàim is one such place with a history remembered by many and yet forgotten by all. It is not the tallest mountain in Scotland, possessing only the second highest peak in the Mamores, a land made up entirely by a vast variety of mountain ranges. The caps of Sgurr a' Mhàim are forever white not from constant snow but by a large amount of quartzite but that is not what earned the mountain's name. In the Gaelic tongue "Sgurr a' Mhàim" means "_Peak of the Pass_" a name rightfully earned as, when viewed from the slopes of Glen Nevis, the mountain resembles a great breast.

It was this very mountain that he walked not on the traditional and well-worn paths carved by centuries of climbers, sight-seers, and perhaps even the occasional passerby. No, it was not the common road he walks but one that few dared to trod not because of its undulating path but by the name of this ridge, the Devil's Ridge. By appearance it was no more dangerous than any other ridge of a mountain and lest you be a fool, there was no reason to fear a plummet to one's death but people know well that to have a name, a place must _earn_ it. No one dared to learn the history of the Devil's Ridge for none alive were there to see for themselves.

Except for her.

She is as much a woman as a mountain is a hill for to describe her so simply was a great injustice. Her clothes are of simple design and simpler make, a white dress shirt with long sleeves falling down to the palms of her gentle hands. Her slacks are dark like chilled blood, a burning crimson in the rising dawn as she sat atop a stone of quartzite with one leg dangling down while the other was clutched to a bountiful chest where more than a hint of cleavage was exposed without modesty. Her shoes rested at the stone's bottom, black like moonless night with heels sharp enough to pierce it seemed almost impossible for her to have come so far on her own with so little effort.

Her hair was brushed back with only a few locks framing the cherub of her face, the green tresses shining with a glimmering sheen that was as natural to her as breathing. Her emerald eyes were downcast, not focusing on any one thing but still bearing a focused intensity as she continued struggling for a solution to a problem new yet old.

Jacque stood until he was next to her on a smaller boulder that served as a nice chair to sit back and relax upon. She didn't give any indication that she was even aware of his presence so what else could he do but rectify? "Madainn mhath." _Good morning_.

His lips twitched at her annoyed flinch, which in itself was only the faint twitch of a delicate eyebrow. He kept his eyes locked with her own as he managed to keep a smile from his face. It would not do to earn her anger without proper cause after all. She continued to stare at him and he wondered if she even understood his words. "A bheil Gàidhlig agaibh?" _Do you speak Gaelic?_

Vibrant jade darkened to offended emerald and her fuchsia-colored lips puckered into a scornful pout. "Chan eil fhios agam… Can a-rithist sin?" _I don't know… Say that again? _He couldn't help the amused half-smirk; she was proving to be more like her father than either of them realized. "Dè tha thu ag iarraidh?" _What do you want?_

Jacque leaned back on his seat, looking away from the beautiful woman to gaze at the high slopes of the nearby Ben Nevis, Scotland's highest mountain. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten dinner but considering the hour… "Bu toigh leam bracaist a ghabhail." _I would like to have breakfast._

She stared at him with open disdain before resuming her cloud watching with a grumbled, "Asal…" _Ass…_

Ah, a chance. "Is fheàrr deagh chainnt na h-asail na droch fhacal fàidh." _The good speech of an ass is better than the bad word of a prophet._ A sound of tinkling amusement like the ringing of bells. It wasn't big enough for a laugh but it wasn't for a giggle, either way it earned a full smile from Jacque.

"Hmmm… I'll give you 60 out of 100." She spoke with a Scottish lilt to her voice though she had not wondered these lands for several years past, seeking the more untamed portions of the world for that forbidden excitement in the dark of the night.

"High praise," His own was of a strange lilt, not quite the Olde English but still bearing a modernized accent of a Yankee, "from a Lady of Class no less!"

"Oh?" She tilted her head, a strange smile on her face as she stared at him with unblinking eyes. "Where do you get such a notion?"

He tapped his chin, gazing thoughtfully up at the sky. "I could list several flowery praises that I'm sure you've heard before or I could you tell you the blunt truth." He looked back at her. "Which do you prefer?"

Her eyes narrowed and let her leg fall from her embrace as she leaned forward almost perpendicular to the ground and yet maintaining perch perfectly. She was pleased that his eyes remained on her own rather than her chest. It was fun to play with a man of honor now and again, to see how far she would have to go before they submitted to her. Still… He was difficult to read, another amusing trait, but she could see the open honesty in his eyes. He wanted to know what she'd prefer to hear and was willing to respond to her desires and still be a gentleman about it.

"I have heard much praise but it is rather uncommon for one to be blunt with me. Say whatever you wish, I'm sure I've heard it all before." She purred, reclining back on her rock, putting emphasis on her scantily covered chest.

He chuckled but still he tensed himself ready for anything for surely she'd kill him sooner than listening for the whole truth. Still, he had been in more dangerous situations these past few weeks than his entire life. What was another? "I'm a friend of your father's."

She froze, hands clenching tight enough to send cracks through her rocky perch. The air suddenly grew thick and heavy with a rising pressure making it rather hard to breathe but still he sat there relaxed as can be as she slowly sat up, her teasing flirtations gone like ash on the wind. In its place was a sudden cold fury whose shining focus in her eyes would have killed lesser men.

"I believe you are lying to me but if you truly do know him so well as to call yourself his friend then you should know me just as well. If you truly know my father, speak his name if you dare."

He glanced back at her, half-turning in his seat. She was trying to scare him and had he not already met with her father he would have been, for though he was no Devil, to speak his name aloud would certainly earn his attention and that was something the old man didn't need. "Would you really want your father here, in the one place in the entire world that is yours, Morrigan Aensland?"

Too late did he realize his mistake as her eyes alit themselves with a violet intensity, her form phasing out of focus to be replaced by her true form. Her dress was more befitting to her true nature, purple stockings decorated with bats flitting about almost as though they were alive on the cloth, a strapless black lycra bodysuit that hugged her torso like a second skin though it bore a heart-shaped cut just beneath the fleshy orbs. However, while the change of clothes was a sudden and unique change, it was nothing compared to the enormous bat wings that were spread almost defensively in front of her from where they sprouted in the middle of her back, well below her shoulders, while the much smaller pair twitched from their perch atop her head.

She was a succubus.

Still, despite the wings or perhaps even because of them, she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and he knew then that he was well and truly doomed.

Morrigan leapt down from her perch and he rose from his own, the two standing far from each other regarding the other with critical eyes though it was she who broke the tense silence first. "Who are you to know my father as to call him your friend?" She wasn't afraid but she was cautious. Her father was one of the Three Kings of Makai and those who could call him their friend could call her their enemy just as well.

"I've known your father for about as long as you, really." Jacque shrugged and half-turned away from her, looking back down at the undulating Devil's Ridge below. "It's really not place my story to tell. Not yet. But I can tell you who I am but I doubt that it will appease you any and though the day has already begun I think it too early to die."

Morrigan scoffed and crossed her arms under her chest, regarded him with cool indifference though inwardly she was a storm of emotions; fear, confusion, and anger mixed in a terrible broth. Who or what was he to treat her like her opinion actually mattered to him? She voiced the question and he regarded her out the corner of his eye.

"I am your betrothed, Morrigan Aensland." Her wings went slack and the oppressiveness of the air vanished for an instant before it was back even greater than before, organic steel now dangerously close to his neck but she kept her wings back enough to only press lightly against the skin. "… Case in point."

Jaded eyes narrowed into thin, angry slits. "Who are you really?"

"My name is Jacque." He said as if that explained everything. Her bladed wings pressed tighter and he raised an eyebrow. "What more did you expect me to say? I am not part of the Maikai except through the promise your father made to me on the day of your birth."

"Yes, he mentioned that… but what he didn't say was what you could give him in return for me."

"Ah…" Jacque smiled with sudden understanding. "You speak of a dowry… I'm sorry to burst your bubble but neither of us agreed on what I could give to him, rather it is more what I could give to you."

The wings atop her head twitched and she tilted her head questioningly but with a sudden flirtatious smile on her lips. "I have had authors write novels about me, I've had composer write sonnets, and I've had artists draw me. I've received gifts from the rich and powerful throughout this world and the Maikai. How are you any different?"

"Because when I look at you I don't see an object to be replicated, a trophy to be put on display, or a stepping stone for grandeur. I see a woman who isn't afraid to do what she wants no matter what others might think of her for her actions, reckless or otherwise, I see a warrior strong enough to stand against an insane demigod and walk away alive and victorious but not without injury, and I see a queen who cares just enough about to world to realize that the Balance of Darkness and Light is absolute, that there can be no dominion of one or the other."

The stiffness in her spine relaxed and the hardened steel softened into fleshy membrane as her wings retracted to fold like a living skirt around her voluptuous hips. "Well you certainly have better manners than most of my would-be suitors." She glanced at him out the corner of her eyes. "You spoke well of your difference but what is it that you can offer me? Would you give me the world, the riches of my wildest dreams, or perhaps you'll give me eternity?" Morrigan scoffed, tossing her tresses back over her shoulder. "I don't need an eternity of love; just one moment of passion is enough for me."

"That's the talk of a child too caught up in their own web of lies to realize the truth they deny. You don't hate eternity for what is eternity to one whose years border past centuries and well into millennia?" Jacque shook his head. "You fear that eternity is as it sounds, an endless cycle of repetition but you're wrong. Nothing is eternal." He started circling her and Morrigan followed him with her eyes.

"What do you want from me?" She asked him, meeting dark emerald with cold jade, two serpents dancing in a slow circle around the other. She had made the first two strikes and he evaded well but if Jacque was to win he'd have to strike back harder and fiercer.

"I want your midnight horror, your wicked design. I want your forbidden love and I want your dark revenge because, you and me? We can write a whole new kind of bad romance." Jacque closed on her until the last of his words were tickling whispers on her lips. They were sharing the same breathe and so close to each other it was hard for them to ignore the other's scent.

By her nature, Morrigan smelled of heated passions made on the sands where rolling waves echoed the lovemaking between two lovers. A trace of spice-enriched winds, wild and untamed and downright teasing with their allure, a smell of warmed blood spilled in the heat of combat.

By his nature, Jacque smelled of cloudless midnight, where the moon and stars illuminated the darkness with their stories as cruel and spiteful clouds flickered resentfully by on the horizon. A trace of autumn leaves falling on winds cooled with the touch of death, a smell of candies sweet and bitter to the tongue.

Cool jade sparked with sudden clarity, a memory forgotten with a shattered power but united as she now was, it returned with crystalline clarity. He had changed since then, barely in some ways, astronomically in others, but the important part of him, the one piece of eternity that even she could cherish, was still there in the him that was here. Hellish flames ignited in clawed hands but her wrists were clenched tightly in rough hands, the hands of one who has worked for everything he has rather than receive it at his feet.

"You bastard…!" She hissed, her Scottish accent thick with rage. "Where have you been? Where have you _been_ that you come to me now? Where were you then when I wanted you, when I _needed_ you?" The infernal bond, the one she had so foolishly made when she was a younger fool than she was now, rang with louder clarity than ever before, the once dull sound in the back of her mind a symphony of music, the song of her soul uniting with his as—

_No… that… that was impossible…_

A fierce feline growl dissuaded her claim though it came not from him.

To every bond a succubus makes there is a ruling to it, a dominance of the succubus to her chosen mate and she, a foolish and selfish child had seen a chance to escape from her duties as royalty and had taken it without regards to the consequences. She had made a bond with him but had placed dominance in his hands, making her the submissive partner and forcing years of emotional torment as the bond forced her own power back unto herself. To be the servant meant to be the dominant's perfect ideal, a mate that was theirs in body and soul. Those years had been agonizing but in the time since she had all but forgotten it as the lack of his presence did nothing to strengthen the bond, but here, now, the bond was stronger than ever before and in his arms she realized a shocking truth.

"I am subservient to you just as you are subservient to me." Jacque released her wrists and stepped back, giving her some space to breathe as she seemed to have forgotten how. "The bond between a succubus and her mate… was always meant to be a one-sided affair and never before was there a succubus who ever dared to create a bond with herself as the servant."

He smiled, a strange sadness in his eyes. "But then… there never was nor ever will be another like you. The Makai is _dying_ Morrigan, and nothing will change that. In a couple of decades, the last darkstalker will be born… In a few centuries, the last of the noble families will crumble… and in a millennia hence… the Makai will be dead and gone with nothing left for it but a forbidden page in History, where only those with darkness in their hearts can read."

Morrigan stared at him, her face unreadable though her eyes were luminous with tears. "If that is truly the case then why bother_?_ What is the point?"

"The point is… that I have had my fair share of lovers in my life but none of them were strong enough to walk with me through the cruel light of the day and the shadowed horrors of the night. I've buried more children than I care to even think about and what few are left… I will not hurt them more by revealing who I am to them." Jacque turned away from her completely, moving to stand on the edge of the mountain's top, staring down the rocky slopes to the roaming hills of emerald as the sun rose in a bloodied sky.

"I am _tired_ Morrigan. I want to sleep _so badly_… but I can't. Not yet. I have to keep going or everything I've ever done, the lives won and lost, the nightmares tamed and the dreams forgotten… it will all be in vain. I have to keep moving forward but I can't do it on my own anymore… I need someone to stand beside me as my equal. I need a woman with courage, a warrior with power, a queen of intelligence. I need _you_ Morrigan. If you'll have me."

She stared at him in silence, her face empty of any emotion while her wings settled loosely upon her. She crossed her arms and made a show of looking him over like one would a newly bought pet but there was a teasing light in her jade eyes. She met his eyes with her own. "An toir thu dhomh pòg?" _Will you give me a kiss?_

Jacque's answer was to step forward until their noses were just barely touching, a hand reaching up and stroking the side of her face while the other went to her side, sliding downwards and cupping the curves of her full hips. He slowly leaned in and pressed his lips gently to her own. His tongue licked at her lips and she allowed him entry into her mouth and together they dueled for dominance over the other. His hands continued to roam the soft fields of her flesh, causing pleasant tingles that warmed a slowly filling pool of pleasure below, which would likely have overflowed had he not suddenly pulled back from her.

He straightened his clothes and appeared none the different save for a pleased blush that spread across the bridge of his nose while Morrigan herself was merely out-of-breath more from surprise than anything else. It wasn't since her first true feeding that she felt such a rush of power and for a moment she was afraid. To have such power in a simple kiss… what would it be like when…?

"One more question." She brushed back her hair with a careless hand, regaining her composure with a bright smile on her porcelain face. "Where's the ring?"

* * *

Slitted eyes stared at the reflected image of the Scottish Highlands, watching with cold disdain as a pair of figures vanished away in a haze of purple tinted flames, a woman's laughter echoing across the mountainside with a man's deep chuckling matching in its symphony. A goblet flew through the air, shattering the glass and spilling its crimson liquid onto the cold cobblestones of the room's interior. A gloved hand clenched tightly as whispered promises returned once more in the foreboding depths of his ancient mind. He had not believed them then but the proof was evident before him and if he was to have her as his, he had no other choice but to bow his head in servitude.

It wouldn't be the first time…

But it certainly will be the last.

* * *

_The cool touch of temperance masters the untamed flames of lust._

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

_Darkstalkers_

Darkstalkers is one of my favorite fighting game series to date and my only regret with it is that nothing new has come from it in years. Oh yes, there's been multiple crossover games staring the leading ladies but it's just not the same without the full crew of monsters in the mix. That was actually one of the finer points of the game was the wide diversity of monsters that still held the classical touch to them but still had that new-edge feel and lets face it, you got to love a game that allows combat between a werewolf and a vampire that doesn't have anything to do with the horrors of _Twilight._

_Morrigan_

I chose Morrigan for Jacque's fiancé for many reasons but I'll just touch on the top three. First, she _is_ royalty and by all default the "hero" of Darkstalkers, I can see her actually do some good in Makai than that idiot Demitri. Besides, if any vampire should rule Makai, it should be the No-Life King. Second, I've read a few stories that do make note of the "bond" between a succubuss and her "chosen/destined one" (courtesy of Rosario+Vampire) and I could see Morrigan, brash and hard-headed as she is, creating a bond to "escape" her duties as heir to the Aensland clan. Third… I liked the idea of making Morrigan into a "responsible" mother figure towards Samara and, later, Red.

_Lust_

I'm not even going to dignify this with a response other than the response I'm making about not dignifying it.

_The Tiger Talisman_

The tiger talisman creates balance or, in some cases, breaks apart the good and the bad of a person into two separate beings. In conjuction with the other talismans, it allowed perfect mastery over any two used in combonation with each other but in the case of one Incarnation overcharge, it created a balance between an otherwise _unbalanced_ bond between mates.


	4. The Fourth Night: The Avarice

**Disclaimer:** I own what is my own.

* * *

_"Why can't you understand that it was a mistake? I would never marry you."_

_"I've spent so long in the darkness, I'd almost forgotten how beautiful the moonlight is."_

* * *

**Thirteen Hallowed Nights**

**The Fourth Night:**

_"The Avarice"_

By Corvus no Genmu

The house wasn't the biggest house on the block but it was certainly not the smallest. Aside from its dark colorations of midnight blues and stormy grays, the house was no different from its neighbors though it did lay claim to the largest yard on the street. Maple trees grew boldly upward, their leaves already awash in the colors of summer's end in marvelous hues of reds and oranges, a tree aflame. Truly the house was no different than any other house but then, it is not the house itself but the people therein that give it a solitary standing amongst its peers. In this house there were no adults or rather, there wasn't anyone above the twilight of their teenaged years therein.

The house's occupants bounced between the numbers two and three for a woman of distinction would often drop by for days on end and would be gone only a day or two in-between, never leaving a sign of her comings and goings save for the gentle knocking on the door and its enthusiastic opening by the home's lone child, a young girl with long glossy black hair and eyes so blue as to rival the midday sky. The last was a boy of late teenaged years, if one could assume as such for though he appeared young he carried himself with an age most did not have even with decades of experience. A cat was often be spotted coming and going as it pleased but it was never seen more than a flash of obsidian fur and eyes of oceans depths and ancient amber.

Inside the house was nothing but bare necessities though everything from the couch to the table, from the floors to the delicate lamps hanging above and about, were all ancient in their design but fit quite well to the standards of the old home. The bottom floors were reserved as the common traffic areas, a living room with a large television that was for the most part unused with only a small collection of videos shelved beneath it but the other shelves were dominated entirely by books. The kitchen was fully stocked, never seeming to be missing anything be it a simple ingredient to a grand dish waiting to be completed, but it was the upstairs that was most interesting.

The staircase curved upwards on one side with its brother curving downward on the other side, hidden behind secret doors. The hallway from one side of the second floor to the other is decorated with scattered photographs from different ages and places and if one looked carefully enough, one could almost see the connection between them all but for the most part it eluded them. A young brunette sitting on the steps of her home, a kitten curled asleep on her lap with a toy rabbit at her side. A young man dressed in his Sunday best but with his blonde tresses wild and untamed, his toothy grin cocky and self-assured. A blank spot where another should be…

Wait…

Jacque paused and took a few steps back. A photo was missing and by the way the cupboard had been moved there could only have been one culprit. He walked down to the far side of the hall, to the room next to his own. He noted the open door and the glimmering candlelight from within, painting interesting shadows across the door and into the hallway before he glanced inside.

The young girl sat at the headboard of her bed, her comforter blanket nestled about her like a massive cloak. She was already dressed for bed in a pale green nightgown, a color she was quite enamored with, and the cat sat above her, staring almost transfixed at the picture in her hands. The girl herself was frowning, looking as though the photo were some great puzzle she had couldn't solve.

"Samara?"

The child gasped and clutched the picture frame close, staring at Jacque knowing that she had been caught and likely to be punished for it. "I'm sorry! I didn't—"

"The next time you feel like taking a closer look at the photographs, please just let Morrigan or I get it down for you." He sat down beside her, rubbing her head affectionately. "I don't want you hurting yourself for your curiosity's sake." _I have seen too much of that before and it did not end well for anyone…_

Samara blushed and squirmed embarrassedly but did not try to move away. Love and its sister Affection were strangers to her but they were welcomed all the same. "Okay…" She whispered, a pleased smile on her porcelain face.

"Now then, let me see what's got your attention so?" Shyly, still embarrassed to be caught so easily, Samara handed him the photograph and the light in Jacque's emerald eyes dimmed at the sight. It was a wedding photo between a young man of eighteen and a woman of the same age. Both were smiling though there was sadness in the eyes of the boy. "Ah… I had nearly forgotten about them…"

"Are they your grandparents…?" She asked for the photograph was easily the oldest of the lot, having been taken just when the device was in its first decade of age.

A bit of teasing light entered Jacque's eyes as he smiled down at her. "Sorry but no grandparents for either of us. No they're just… some old friends…"

Samara pouted as Nibi landed gracefully at her side, curling up for sleep though one ear twitched towards them, both tails curled tightly around its paws. "Tell me about them?"

Jacque raised an eyebrow at that, staring at her in thoughtful silence. She wasn't stupid, she knew what she was asking but did he dare to let a part of himself go, just enough to satisfy her? He looked into her eyes and realized the answer was already there. "His name is Victor Van Dort…"

* * *

Victor sighed sadly to himself as he watched Emily vanish down the cobblestone steps to the city below. The day had started out so well for him; he was to be married to a beautiful young lady of class who, if nothing else, appreciated his talent at the piano. Of course, being an arranged marriage and having never met her before, he was a nervous wreck at the rehearsal and botched up his vows enough to have Pastor Gallswells banish him from the church until he could properly recite them. Well, long story short he managed to successfully recite his vows but had inadvertently recited them to a corpse, specifically a corpse of a bride. One who took his recited words to heart and accepted him as her husband to be.

With his one chance to get back to the Land of the Living failed miserably Victor expected the depression but he certainly did not expect the guilt. Oh yes, he felt guilty for lying to the poor girl but a marriage between the two of them, it was impossible. Yes, he tricked her into going up to the Land of the Living under false pretenses but he had to get back to his true bride-to-be… Of course, that all came crumbling down rather spectacularly… _At least it can't get any worse than this can it?_

"That was rather insensitive of you. Why not go for the real deal and stab her in the heart, what's left of it anyway." A voice of sensuous silk and chilling cold spoke from behind Victor, startling the poor man something bad as he stumbled forward and turned to see a startling sight.

The man couldn't have been much older than Victor when he died but it was hard to tell for most of his face was covered by a thick purple scarf that matched well with the dark plum of his duster jacket. His ratty hair, long and tied back in a pigtail, rested beneath a large black fedora adorned with the remains of a feather. His skeletal hands were bedecked with a pair of gloves and at his side was a leather satchel that looked heavy with a thick book of some kind. Overall he was the most well dressed skeleton Victor had seen yet and that more than anything else frightened him terribly.

Emerald eyes rolled in a skeleton's sockets, meeting the pinpricks of Victor's own as teeth clattered into an amused smile before looking up at the aged skeleton sitting at his desk above the library of ancient and forgotten books. "If you'll excuse us, Elder Gutknecht. The boy and I have a few things to discuss."

"Oh by all means, don't let these old bones keep you."

The skeletal rider nodded and started out of the Elder's tower but paused to glance back at the frightened Victor. "Coming?"

"Ah, I… I suppose I may as well…?" Victor hesitantly followed behind after him.

An emerald eyeball moved independently of its brother as the rider regarded how utterly frightened the young man was. "So… Victor was it?"

"Ah, y-y-yes?"

The rider sighed, reached up to scratch his bony forehead. "Relax before you pass out, boy. I'm just as dead as anyone else here and I abide by the same laws."

"L-Laws?"

"In a moment. First, my name is Mortimer and you, my dear boy, are going to stroke if you don't stop acting like I'm the Spirit of Death."

"S-Sorry…"

"Stop stuttering, you're an adult, try and act like one. Now tell me just what the problem is?"

"Problem? What problem?"

Mortimer amended his question. "What is the problem you have with Emily? You are aware that you've sworn to be her husband—"

"That's just it!" exclaimed Victor, suddenly anxious, "I didn't know she was there!"

Mortimer suddenly stopped walking and Victor stumbled to not run into him. A crackling of bones sounded loudly as Mortimer's skull twisted about to stare angrily at Victor as his body followed slowly behind. "Only the one who broke her heart before killing her body knows that she was buried there in the woods of your town. Do you have any idea how long it was until she started talking again? How many days she spent wallowed up in her room crying her eyes out? It wasn't until today that I've ever seen her smile like that and then you had to go and break her heart all over again."

Victor slumped with shame at that. Bone Jangles hadn't spared any details of Emily's story but it was far different hearing of it and the aftermath in actual words rather than in musical lyrics. He never really bothered to question Emily about it either and really, he should have at least made the attempt of getting to know her and perhaps finding out for himself just why she was so quick to proclaim him as her husband, even being so kind as to reunite him with his long-dead pet, when he hadn't even known her name!

Mortimer sighed and shook his head, his eyes rolling back and forth. "Boy, just who is this Victoria person?"

"She's, um, she's my…"

"Fiancé?" supplied Mortimer as he started walking again with Victor dutifully following behind.

"Um, actually ours is an arranged marriage you see…"

"An arranged marriage." Mortimer deadpanned, made all the better as he was actually dead mind you. "How long have you even known this girl?"

"We-Well… yesterday afternoon, really…"

"Yesterday." Mortimer smacked his forehead, dislodging both his eyes which he was quick to catch and pop back in. He started to massage his forehead, not feeling any actual pain but it was an old living habit he hadn't quite gotten rid of. "Was this before or after you made your vows to Emily?"

"Before… but—"

"Ah, let me guess," Mortimer held up a gloved hand to stall any further explanation. "You didn't do well with rehearsal and you tried practicing in the forest and the first time you managed to get it right, you said them to the wrong person."

"_Exactly_…!"

"And, you'd rather marry Victoria because…? Leaving out the still-living part of course."

"She's-She's… well, she's really rather kind, sweet, and c-c… cute…"

"Most girls are." Mortimer sighed and shook his skull. "Hold on, let's try this from a different angle. What has Victoria ever done for you?"

"She… she complimented my playing the piano… she always wanted to play but her parents forbade her from learning you see…"

"And what about your vows? Did she help you memorize them or help you keep a steady head?"

"No she… She didn't help at all."

"And Emily?" asked Mortimer. "What has she done for you?"

"Sh-She… danced with me… she brought me back to the Land of the Living so that I…" The young man looked ashamed, remembering his crimes, however small, against his corpse bride. "So that I could tell my parents the good news."

"And you went running to this Victoria instead." Mortimer said, "But that's not all she had done is it?"

"No, she," Victor smiled somewhat sadly. "She found Scraps and reunited him with me."

"Ah yes, your dog." Mortimer nodded. "She went through a lot of trouble to find him."

"What do you mean?" Victor asked.

"Haven't you noticed, that the only animals down here are bats, spiders, the odd raven or three, and the occasional maggot?" asked Jack. "Not a single dead animal anywhere save for the horse in town square and your dog."

"Now that you mention it…" murmured Victor. "That is rather strange."

"Actually, it isn't." Mortimer explained, "Animals don't have the same troubles as humans so most pass on to their rightful places straight after. However, there are still some that don't want to go and so stay here to wait for those they called friend or master though many spend eternity waiting." He sighed rather forlornly. "When one is dead, I'm sure an old family pet is the least of their concerns after all."

"So… Scraps…?"

"Has been waiting for you all these years since he died, even if there wasn't a chance of you finding him." Mortimer nodded. "It was Emily who went to the wild lands surrounding this town and found him amongst all the other pets waiting for their masters. Found him and brought him to you, boy."

"Oh Emily…" Victor sniffed and shook his head.

"A real sweetheart, isn't she?" Mortimer paused and glanced down a nearby alleyway. "Well speak of the dog…"

"Eh? Scraps, what are you doing here boy?" Victor kneeled down to scratch the dead canine's skull as the little thing deposited a familiar bouquet of dead flowers in the young man's hand. He started walking away and glanced back over at his living master and whined, looking back the way he came to Victor again.

"Go with your dog, maybe he can talk some sense into you that I can't."

* * *

"I'm too late…" muttered a forlorn Victor as he sat slumped against the wall of the pub, numerous empty caskets leaning about all around him as he stared forlornly at the small stem of flowers in his hands. Truly it seemed that for every step forward he took, he was forced to go back several more just because, if for no actual reason. He had learned something knew of Emily and of himself as they played a marvelous duet on the pub's piano and had just as quickly learned of Victoria by way of his recently

"Too late?" Victor snapped his head to stare in surprise at Mortimer who sat across from him, using one of the coffins as it was originally intended, rising up like a fleshless vampire and scaring the poor boy half to death. "Boy, it has barely begun. Unless you're speaking of your fiancé again in which case, yes. Yes it is over. Love is a greedy thing, live with it."

"Greedy? Love isn't greedy!"

"Isn't it? Yours is an arranged marriage of convenience between your parents and hers isn't it? Your family supplies the money, while hers supplies the nobility. That's a marriage of convenience. Your Victoria must recover from heartbreak quickly to marry another man so quickly after losing her first fiancée in the same day."

"Stop it…"

"Even Emily, for all her kindness, is selfishly in love with you simply for the fact that she has always been the bride's maid and never the bride."

"I said stop it!" Victor was on his feet, the echoes of his shout fading away into the shadowed alleyways as Mortimer stared up at him in complete silence before suddenly smiling and pushing himself up to his feet. Victor stumbled back half-a-step suddenly losing his daring but still remaining firmly on his feet as he did his best to glare at the skeletal rider, managing just above disgruntled puppy.

"I apologize but I wanted to see for myself whether or not you actually had some guts beneath your skin." Mortimer cracked his spine back into place. He walked past Victor and carefully glanced into the kitchen of the pub. Sporting a wicked grin hidden beneath the folds of his scarf, Mortimer gestured for the living man to stand where did. "Come over here and see for yourself how selfish love can be."

Hesitating for only a brief moment, Victor complied and peered through the crack of the door while steadfastly ignoring Mortimer popping out an eye and holding it above his head so that he too could see. Emily was standing in the kitchens with Elder Gutknecht, the ancient skeleton looking over the pages of a book older than his ancient bones while Emily's maggot friend looked positively delighted at whatever news the Elder was hesitant in delivering.

"There is a complication with your marriage." The Elder said.

"I don't understand."

"The vows are binding only until death do you part."

"What are you saying…?" asked Emily, looking nervous, her fleshy fingers playing with the bones of her left hand, gently caressing the golden band that adorned her ring finger.

"Death… has already parted you."

Emily gasped, actually afraid for that meant, "If he finds out, he'll leave." She finger-twiddling reached new heights as she stared imploringly at Elder Gutknecht. "There must be something you can do."

"Well, there is one way…"

The maggot writhed where it sat on the page, looking like it was about to burst with excitement. "Oh, please! Please let me tell her!"

"It requires the greatest sacrifice." Elder Gutknecht explained.

The maggots little teeth spread in a vicious grin. "Go on, get to the good part!" It squeaked.

Emily's eyes narrowed. "What is it?"

"We have to kill him!" shouted the maggot, sounding like Christmas had come early for it had been a good little corpse-eater.

"What?"

Victor gasped and stumbled back but a bony hand held him firm, one green eye staring at him while the other was still held up over his head. "Wait, I want to hear her say it."

"Victor would have to give up the life he had forever." Elder Gutknecht turned the pages of his book until he revealed a page where a potion was dominant on one page, its ingredients on the other. "He would need to repeat his vows in the Land of the Living and drink from the Wine of Ages."

"Poison!" Emily looked away in disgust at the sight of the skull and crossbones, not daring to even _consider_…

"This would stop his heart forever." Elder Gutknecht walked around the table as Emily stared deeply into the flames of the pub's fireplace as though a new answer may be derived from the green flames. "Only then would he be free to give it to you."

Victor tried to step back but Mortimer's grip was like steel on his shoulders and the skeleton's teeth were nearly chattering in excitement as they waited for Emily to make her decision.

"I could never ask him." Emily collapsed to her knees, her hopes crumbling and her heart breaking anew once more.

Victor's back straightened in shock and he heard more than felt Mortimer's hand drop from his shoulders, his eyeball falling to the ground. He didn't hesitate as he pushed open the door to the kitchen and stepped inside, his choice had at long last been made. "You don't have to." Emily gasped, surprised that he was there and horrified at what he had likely overheard but still he continued, "I'll do it."

"My boy, if you chose this path you may never return to the world above," warned Elder Gutknecht. "Do you understand the choice you're making?"

Victor smiled and gently took Emily's hand in his own, helping her to her feet as he gave his answer not to the Elder but to his bride. "I do."

At the door stood Mortimer, both eyes back in his skull staring at the scene inside before turning away and stalking off into the back roads of the city. "I don't… understand… She said no… but he still… and… It doesn't make any sense…"

* * *

"Which in its own way was rather understandable for you see Mortimer was… asleep…" Jacque sighed exasperatedly but with a fond smile on his face as Samara slept with her arms wrapped around a spare pillow. Shaking his head, Jacque rose to his feet and switched off the light at her bedside and carefully walked out of the room, pausing at the door long enough to whisper, "Pleasant dreams, Samara." He shut the door behind him and wasn't at all surprised to suddenly feel a pair of arms sensuously wrap themselves across his shoulder, a pleasant breath tickling at the back of his neck. He smiled and leaned back into his fiancé's embrace. "Morrigan."

"Just once I'd like to be able to sneak up on you… Stupid bond…" A teasing kiss behind his ear before cool jade eyes glanced down at the photograph in his hands. "So…?"

"… What?"

"I can read you just as well as you read me." Another kiss at the back of his jaw. "You only have to ask."

"… Could you please?"

"Just call my name when you're ready to come home."

That surprised him and he turned to stare at her human form questioningly. "You're not coming?"

Morrigan smiled and shook her head, taking the photograph from his hands and placing it back in its proper place as she spoke, "You're not ready to share that part of your life with me just yet. I can wait until you are."

"… Morrigan—" He didn't have time to say anything else as he vanished away in a burst of emerald flames leaving only a few specks of soot from where he stood.

Morrigan didn't so much as bat an eye as she continued to straighten, or rather play, with the photograph her eyes on the groom's best man. "Mortimer huh…?"

* * *

The town had changed in the decades past but that was to be expected really. It had been well over a hundred years since the Victorian age and time waited for no one. But as he walked down the cobblestone streets, Jacque noted a few structures remained standing though their use had been changed in the years of their original creation. The Everglot's mansion had been changed into an orphanage while the Van Dort's was now serving the city as a funeral home. Ironic and sad at the same time really but it was not these places that interested him. Jacque spotted the church and crossed the bridge that led from its holy grounds to the nearby cemetery where once a scraggly wood dominated with crows stood centuries ago.

_"Dearly beloved and departed… We are gathered here today to join this man and this corpse in holy matrimony…"_

He stopped at the entryway into the graveyard, frowning as he gazed over the numerous headstones and grave markers the littered the freshly mowed landscape. It had been years since he came here last and it seemed that the number of citizens departed had grown since. He had no idea where to even begin looking. A raven flitted past overhead, landing atop a nearby grave marker.

_"What's wrong?"_

The raven cawed and fluttered off to another grave marker, scratching at its rocky perch before glancing back at Jacque and cawing again. A small smile on his face, Jacque followed along after the cantankerous little bird as it flitted from stone to stone, occasionally cawing at him whenever it felt he was taking too long and falling behind.

_"Oh how touching. I always cry at weddings."_

The blackbird suddenly took to the skies, vanishing away into the wind but that was alright. Jacque recognized where he was now and knelt down in front of the grave markers. Though there was many in the long row only three really had his attention but only two had empty vases for flowers in front of them.

_"You…"_

_"… Emily?"_

A few whispered words and a few dead autumn leaves changed into a small bouquet of pear and peach blossoms with a single black rose at the center that he placed in each vase. The left gravestone was marked with but a name and a phrase, no year of birth or of death marking its gray surface. **Victor Van Dort. Beloved Husband and Departed Father.**

_"You…!"_

_"But… I left you!"_

The other was marked in the same fashion, a match though she died long before him. **Emily Van Dort. Beloved Wife and Departed Mother.**

_"For dead…!"_

The third grave marker sat between them and was one of the few in the entire cemetery to be damaged almost beyond repair. It was smaller than the other two and sat nestled between them. What words were inscribed upon the gravestone were gone, washed away by years of harsh wind, unforgiving rain, and bitter snow. Strange considering that the markers on either side were in pristine condition. He slowly started to hum a song, starting slowly to build up the music.

_"But first! A toast, to Emily. Always the bridesmaid and never the bride! Tell me my dear, can a heart still break once it's stopped beating? Hmm?"_

* * *

Elder Gutknecht held his bony limbs out, stopping the crowd of departed from rushing the arrogant little ponce and showing him just how they felt about back-stabbing murderers. "Wait! We must abide by their rules! We are amongst the living."

"Well said."

Barkis smirked viciously at the utter devastation on Emily's face and took a generous swig of the goblet and with all the regality years of practice gave him, stepped towards the church door before his heart painfully clenched upon itself. He gasped for air as he struggled to breathe before his heart finally gave out and he died standing on his feet.

Bonejangles grinned, cracking the knuckles of his hands. "Not any more…!"

"No." Mortimer pushed himself to the front of the crowd of spectators and glared down at the shivering Barkis with empty eye sockets, one hand painfully clutching something while the other twitched as though he himself was having problems in holding back his urge to throttle the man. "Do you know what happens to a soul that delights in the sin of avarice as much as you, Barkis?"

A crack appeared on the church floor.

"A soul that steals hearts and gold alike and kills fair virgin maidens in the dead of the night?"

Two more cracks, larger than the first with faint reddish light dancing beneath.

"A soul that leaves the bodies where they fall to be ravaged and forgotten, never to be laid properly to rest?"

The floor started to sink underneath the gasping Barkis as more cracks appeared beneath him as he struggled to breathe, the air suddenly becoming hot like the flames of an inferno were alight beneath him. Agonized screams echoed from the cracks as gear grinded and demons great and small cackled in mad glee at the tortures of the damned below.

"They are taken to the Fourth Circle of Hell, Barkis. Where they are sheared in money presses, boiled in melted gold, and buried by the weight of their peers. This is all you have to look forward to for the rest of eternity. I hope that it's exactly as you deserve."

The cracked floor suddenly opened in a massive fanged maw and Barkis hung in the air for a long moment as though held up by an invisible hand.

"Goodbye, Barkis."

The jaws slammed shut and the church floor was clear of any damage with naught but a fading cloud of smoke to show for what had just occurred.

Mortimer's shoulders slowly sagged and he looked up at the gaping Victor and Emily. He shook his head at the pair of them as he popped his eyes back into his skull, his one hand still clenched tightly. "I hope that whatever choice you make, to wed or not to wed, that it is the right one and neither of you come to regret it as the worst mistake you ever made." He laughed and stared at Emily. "But then what do I know? You're both human after all." He laughed once more; another's hooting laughter echoing just beneath his own as he walked out of the church, a trail of dust falling from his empty hand.

He stepped out the church doors and sighed, glancing down at the ground. "So much for Plan B… guess I'll just have to stick with Plan A after all… Damn…" He muttered to himself before continuing on as he always did, never once looking back at what he left behind. That was an instinct he would not have for years to come but when he did, it would be one he cherished.

Victor stared after him in thoughtful silence. "Now what do you suppose he meant—Emily!" He gasped, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest.

"What? What is it?" She turned to him, ignoring the startled gasps and cries of shock from the gathered beloved and departed, the clattering of jaw bones dropping to the floor and the occasional eyeball popping out of its socket.

"You… You're—"

* * *

"—alive and well… I'm alive and well… And today you know that's good enough for me… Breathing in and out's a blessing, can't you see? Today's the first day of the rest of my life…! Now I'm alive and well… Yeah, I'm alive and well…" Jacque sighed and pushed himself to his feet and bowed his head to the gravestones.

"I know I didn't treat you like I ought to have… I wasn't the worst but I wasn't the best either… I don't know if you care to even hear me now but… for what it's worth? You two were the best parents a kid could ever ask for…" A gust of wind blew past and with it a pair of butterfly, one with sapphire wings the other, with shades of violet at its edge. They danced in a wild circle around him before another gusty breeze carried them away with black rose petals trailing along behind. Jacque stared after them for a long moment before smiling sadly.

"Heh…"

* * *

_Generosity brings together the broken pieces of avarice._

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

_The Corpse Bride_

One of my favorite Tim Burton films (after several others), _The Corpse Bride_ always felt like it was missing a few key scenes and explanations to me. I mean, yes I can see the Land of the Dead to be an otherwise happy place free from the strict mannerisms that were required of the living but if I had to spend the rest of eternity as a _still decomposing_ skeleton… yeah, I'd rather not end up there thank you very much. This chapter actually came from an unwritten idea to have an "extended scene" where Victor happens to meet his faith's Incarnation of Death… though I suppose in a way that _did_ actually happen…

_Victor and Emily_

I liked the ending of _The Corpse Bride_, really I did but… blast it, Victor should have stayed with Emily! He had far more in common with her than he did little miss Victoria! Emily can play the piano, Victoria happens to like it but can't play a note of it. Emily reunited Victor with his pet, and Victoria… made herself look like a crazy person. Emily wasn't willing to kill Victor to be with him though she loved him dearly and Victoria… married that jerk Barkis because her parents told her to. Yeah, Victoria is the better choice. Just like having a cup of cyanide is better than a good old glass of lemonande on a hot summer's day.

_Greed_

At this time, Jacque had yet to really feel any true human emotions and as such had some rather poor opinions of them. Besides that, when Barkis died it raised my point about the Land of the Dead. If that's truly where _all_ of the dead go then you got to wonder just what would happen if a serial killer like Barkis happened to run into a crowd of his victims, not pretty I'm sure but let's face facts. What's worse for someone as evil as Barkis? Eternity in the pits of Hell? Or an eternity trying to find all your body parts? … Huh… okay, I'll get back to you on that…

_The Monkey Talisman_

The monkey talisman transform animate objects into other animate objects. That is to say, turn a rat into a dog and other such things. Jacque's "plan b" was to use the recently found monkey talisman to transform him back to his proper self but because he was dead at the time, he couldn't go beyond a "mortal" transformation. Seeing as Emily was more of a "corpse" rather than a "human" the transformation wasn't beyond the monkey talisman's abilities, at least in Jacque's hands.


	5. The Fifth Night: The Sloth

**Disclaimer:** I own what is my own.

* * *

_"Come on, it's for a good cause: ME!"_

* * *

**Thirteen Hallowed Nights**

**The Fifth Night:**

_"The Sloth"_

By Corvus no Genmu

From the northern west coast to the northern east… was there really a difference? Oh yes, there were two different oceans involved but aside from that were the people of those corners so different from the other? The eastern coast was more likely to hold favor to the old traditions while the west lived up to its name of being wild and untamed, at least that's all he could assume really. Jacque hadn't ventured across America that much in recent years and time changes everything…

_Some things though…_

Jacque glanced at the paper in his hand and took another look at the nearby town sign. "Winter River…" He took a look at his watch and bit back a foul oath. Samara was going to be out from school in a few hours. He had to wrap this up quickly.

He reached into his pocket and grasped the item therein and started to run. He was at the house in an instant, a cloud of dust trailing along behind him. Brushing his clothes, Jacque took a look at the place and couldn't help the small bit of pride in his smile. _Well this place is certainly better than I thought of him…_

He walked up the steps and had only just begun to knock when the door was ripped open and he was hastily pulled inside as an older woman hectically spoke to him even as she finished primping herself. "You must be the babysitter we called, thanks so much for coming, we'll be out until ten, there's money for pizza, thank you and goodbye!" She was gone out the door with her husband dragged along behind her looking utterly defeated with himself. The door slammed shut behind them and a disheveled Jacque stood blinking in surprise for a moment before chuckling softly to himself as he straightened his clothes out.

That worked out better than he thought it would.

"Aren't you kind of young to be a babysitter?" He turned and saw a young teenaged girl, just barely into her teen years dressed in what had to be the most gaudy looking school uniform he had ever seen. From the paleness of her face and the generous use of eye shadow she was at the very least partially inclined to being a Goth.

"Aren't you rather old to be needing one?" He asked right back.

She blinked and couldn't help a small laugh at that. "Touché."

Jacque made a show of looking around, but really he was inspecting the girl. Rather plain in appearance but given she was still in her uniform that was understandable. Soft hands but sharp eyes… an artist perhaps, one with a keen mind for sure but there… yes, she carried herself like an adult, a maturity beyond her years. A polar opposite in almost every way for Jacque had not missed the small rubber spider that had been converted into a brooch on the girl's top. He took another glance at his watch and winced. Only two hours left.

"Look, I'm on a rather tight schedule today, so could you do us both a favor and just call him."

The girl's eyes widened before she feigned an ignorant expression trying to emulate some of the ditzy members of her class. "Call who? The pizza guy?"

Jacque sighed. "I don't have time for this. Call him or _I will_."

"I really don't know what you're talking about."

Jacque scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. She was a stubborn one and her acting was terrible, at least to his eyes, but he had to give her points for actually trying didn't he? He repressed a sigh. Here he was hoping this would start out civilly, _Ah well…_ "Fine." He took a deep breath. "Though I know I should be wary…" The girl's mouth dropped open in shock at the words, but Jacque had only just begun. "Still I venture someplace scary! Ghostly haunting I turn loose! Beetlejuice. _Beetlejuice!_ **_Beetlejuice!_**"

Crimson lightning cracked in a darkened sky the walls suddenly twisted and warped upon themselves, transforming the large room into a foreboding tower with grisly beams piercing through the ceiling as bats flew freely above. A swarm of insects scurried across the floor, leaving stone works where floorboards once were and traveled upwards along the wall as stone steps burst from the side. The changes ended when a poncho suddenly blew into the room and attached itself to the girl, flashing red as intricate spider webs drew themselves upon the fabric. Her hair tied itself up into a high ponytail. Her school clothes shifted and changed into a form fitting black bodysuit that would have shown off her figure well if it weren't for the poncho.

Jacque raised an amused eyebrow at the change and would have voiced his opinion of it hadn't he been interrupted by a sudden loud bang as a ghostly apparition appeared floating above the room with all the subtlety of a train wreck. "Heya Lyds! Good timing, I was just about to see if I could break my beetle jug chugging record!"

Jacque glanced up and saw a man dressed in a black and white pinstripe suit with black boots and a dark violet shirt underneath the jacket of his suit with a black necktie held by a golden tie clip shaped like a spider. His skin was deathly pale and rather dirty looking in some places, particularly around the mess of bleached blonde hair that looked like it hadn't touched a comb in centuries. His eyes were slightly sunken in and possessed a strange madness to their violet depths. Strangely, his hands were tipped in blood-red fingernails filled to almost resemble claws.

"Uh, Beej…" Lydia hesitantly started to speak, looking back and forth between the distracted poltergeist and the amused young man that summoned him.

"I got to twelve gallons worth last time so I gotta go for double or nothing! C'mon, Babes! My good name is riding on this!" His body suddenly popped, changing into the letters of his name **Beetlejuice** with a saddle beneath them.

Jacque snorted at that. "That's as much your name as Mortimer is mine."

Another pop and Beetlejuice was back in proper form but this time the beat-all grin was gone and his eyes were narrowed into angry slits. "And you're supposed to be?"

Jacque spared a glance at the confused Lydia before focusing on the summoned spirit known primarily as 'Beetlejuice'._ If his mother heard about this…_ "The babysitter."

"He's the one who summoned you, Beej. Not me." Lydia explained, staring distrustfully at Jacque.

"What? That can't be right? No one knows that spell save for—" Beetlejuice cut himself off, literally for his mouth suddenly fell from his face with a slicing sound. He hastily picked it up and stood before Lydia, arms spread out and glaring at Jacque with a strange intensity that bordered on the edge of terror but was in fact overwhelmed by a sea of rage. His nails lengthened into true claws and the mishmashed teeth snapped into place as deadly fangs.

"BJ?" gasped Lydia, never before seeing him act like this before.

"Run Lydia! Get out of here; I'll hold him off with everything I have!" At his words, power gathered in Beetlejuice's hands, ghostly flames that burned in the shape of skulls in the specter's hands.

Jacque sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. "There's no need for that… but if it'll make you more comfortable…" He looked over at Lydia and smiled apologetically. "Sorry but… could you leave the two of us alone?" She hesitated, looking back and forth between them. "If it helps any I am as mortal as you. I can do him no more harm than I would to myself." She glanced once more at Beetlejuice who turned only just enough to look at her from the corner of his eye.

"_Please_ Lydia. Go!"

She went.

The door slammed shut behind her and Jacque shook his head in amusement. "Now you've done it. She's likely to come back with help from—" A blur and he was gone, standing on the opposite side of the room as the spot he stood was occupied by a massive clawed hand that extended from a striped sleeve. Jacque frowned, his emerald eyes matching with Beetlejuice's amethyst ones with a burning anger though his own was warranted. "You weren't acting I see."

"Grrr…" A light bulb suddenly lit up on Beetlejuice's head. "How about we _heat things up?_" A sudden flash and Beetlejuice had a pair of flamethrowers in hand and was ready to use them when Jacque suddenly spoke up.

"You are aware that any damage done in here will be reflected back upon the house proper?" He spared a glance at the hole in the floor where light shined from an unseen desert sun and frowned. _Where could _that_ possibly lead to?_

Beetlejuice meanwhile deflated in defeat, the air going out the suddenly balloon-bodied guns in a long, slow wheeze of helium. He tossed them aside and made an exasperated show of straightening his jacket. "Alright, I'll be blunt," He shifted into a hammer and back again. "What are you doing here?"

"Can't I just be here to see how you're doing?" asked Jacque. "Hard as it is for you to believe me, I do care about you."

Beetlejuice snorted at that. "Yeah, sure. Where were you on my last birthday then?"

"… Do you even remember your birthday? More to the point, do you even celebrate it?"

"Yes! … Okay, not really but that's not the point!" Another transformation, this time into a human-sized tack and back again just as quickly. Obviously Beetlejuice was getting a small handle on his powers if he only changed for a brief moment. "Every time you come back into my afterlife it has always been for something!" He turned away from Jacque with crossed arms, refusing to look at him and staring resolutely at the wall. "So what do you want this time, old man?"

"I'm not proud of what I was like before… I didn't deserve the things I got and I sure didn't treat them like the gifts they were… but I've changed since then. I'm trying to make up for the wrongs I did to the people I _should_ have cared about." Jacque sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared down at the floor as though some answer laid there beneath the stone. "Betel—"

"Don't! Just… don't. I don't have to listen to you!" With that said, Beetlejuice's ears popped off and started flapping away into the rafters and Jacque sighed, quite exasperated with the poltergeist's attitude and was going to inform him of such when something that captured his heart in a icy vice of fear. It was massive and rose upwards like a snake from the hole in the floor, but it was nothing like those smooth-scaled reptiles. No this was more like a massive worm with a mouth lined in grisly fangs with four gleaming eyes that shined like pearls on its otherwise striped hide of purple and green. A massive fin like a sharks jutted from just behind the head like a massive meat cleaver. This was a rare predator that few beings of any sort dared to cross, especially those already dead for this monstrosity was a leftover from the Time Before, a fragment of the chaos given a permanent form and a devourer of the departed.

A sandworm.

"Betelgeuse!" Jacque yelled but without his ears attached to his head, the poltergeist never heard him as does was completely unaware of the sandworm until its massive jaws had clamped down on the tails of his jacket and pulled him away back into the hole. Jacque was there at the hole's edge in an instance and winced at the sight below. It was a massive desert where the sun never ceased to shine, a forgotten place for the failed creations and the unwanted monstrosities. This world could at best be described as a prison but considering what made this desert its territory… It was then that Jacque realized something.

_He actually _punched_ a hole in the Wall…_ There was that proud smirk again and Jacque actually felt a tear coming on when,

"Aaaah!" Beetlejuice squealed like a little girl as the sandworm struggled to clamp its mouth shut upon him. "Get me out of here!"

Jacque's eyes widened as the jaws of the sandworm finally clamped down and his eyes narrowed in a blazing rage. "Spit." A blur and his was suddenly slamming down upon the wicked thing's spine, shattering it. "Out." A flash and his fist as imbedded in the front of the sandworm's throat, forcing to gag out of reflex. "My." Another burst of speed and the sandworm received a kick to the face that broke more than a few of its massive fangs. "Boy!"

The sandworm slammed down, bruised and paralyzed halfway down its massive body, its mouth hanging open limply as Beetlejuice staggered out looking none the worse for wear save for the fact that he was covered from head to toe in sandworm spit.

"This is vile… even for me…" He muttered, shaking a slobber covered arm when he realized something. He turned and stared at Jacque, his eyes wide and shaped like saucers, his mouth hanging limply and squeaking as it swung before he clapped it back into place though his eyes remained transformed. "What did you call me?"

Jacque suddenly found the sky interesting and with good reason. "Well that's not good…"

Beetlejuice looked up and his eyes popped out of his head but a new set appeared to replace them. The hole was closing! Before he had a chance to scream like a baby, or as he would later deny and proclaim as manly cussing, Jacque had a firm hold of his lips and glared at him.

"Are you or are you not the self-proclaimed 'Ghost with the Most'? Surely you can _fly_ at the very least?"

"Oh… yeah…" Beetlejuice locked wrists with Jacque and in a moment was up and through the hole just in time as it collapsed upon itself, the Wall healing the damage unknowingly done by Beetlejuice's own hand.

Jacque scowled in disgust at his soiled hand and waved it about to rid it of the excess slobber. Finding it more difficult than he thought, he reached into his pocket to pull out a handkerchief but instead felt a small pile of dust. He froze but soon relaxed with a depressed sigh. "So much for that I suppose…" He reached into his other pocket and pulled out a small, silver brooch and finally smiled if only a little. "At least there's this…" He tossed it at Beetlejuice. "Catch."

Beetlejuice caught it and stared at it before glaring at Jacque. "This is a girl's brooch."

"For your friend." Jacque agreed with a nod before boring his eyes into the poltergeist who took a step back in surprise. "Just how long were you going to wait before you got that child some protection? Until she was dead on her feet?"

"What are you talking about? Lyds is fine as wine!" He a glass of red wine appeared in his hand but he tossed it over his shoulder. "She ain't gonna die!"

"Not if you keep bringing her to the Otherside as you have. What do you think happens to a mortal who keeps visiting a land of the dead? They _die_ before their time you lazy little—" Jacque sighed and shook his head. "Never mind. I came here to do you a favor and I did it. Whatever your feelings for me are irrelevant; if you truly care about that girl you'll give her that brooch. It won't protect her from actual threats but she should be fine visiting you in that pit you call a house." With nothing more to say, Jacque turned and started for the door.

"What's the catch?"

Jacque's hand gripped the doorknob but he didn't turn it. "Catch? No catch."

"There's always a catch with everything you do! Why would this be any different?"

"… Because I've learned from my mistakes." He laughed suddenly and glanced back at Beetlejuice with a full smile. "Like son, like father isn't it? Oh and Betelgeuse? Your birthday? It's March 30th." He chuckled again and opened the door and stepped out in a normal yard in an otherwise normal town. Without looking back, he started down the long path towards the town proper in the hopes of finding a phone. Hopefully, Morrigan wouldn't tease him too much about having to ask for a lift back home to pick up Samara.

_And… who am I trying to kid…?_

* * *

_Zealous actions clear away the dusty cobwebs of sloth._

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

_Beetlejuice_

Another Tim Burton favorite, I enjoyed both the film and the cartoon when I was younger and I enjoy them now that I'm older. The movie was a bit darker than the cartoon but it still had its fair share of laughs and enjoyment. This incarnation of Beetlejuice takes more from the cartoon series but it does take a bit from the movie as well, namely Beetlejuice's real name and the fact that he was alive during the Black Plauge.

_Betelgeuse_

As stated, Beetlejuice, or rather Betelgeuse, is more like his cartoon self rather than his movie self with the same faults and quirks. If it weren't already obvious, Betelgeuse happens to be Jacque's first child, born a century or so before Jacque (or rather Mortimer's) meeting with Victor and Emily. As such, there is a bit of animosity from Betelgeuse towards his father seeing as Jacque _did_ abandon him both in life and death. The fact that Jacque is an Incarnation of Death and thus able to actually summon Beetlejuice does little to earn the poltergeist's favor.

_Sloth_

Admittedly while Betelgeuse is a greedy guy, he was always rather slothful when it came to his get-rich schemes as they were always quick but never ending well for him in the end. Besides, if Betelgeuse is truly centuries old, one would think he'd have gotten better control over his incredible powers by now seeing as he still suffers from occasional attacks of "literalism".

_The Rabbit Talisman_

The monkey talisman allows for super speed and with the proper application, can even go beyond lightspeed. Up until meeting with Morrigan, who can teleport between Makai and the human realm with great ease, Jacque used the talisman for most of his trips and with his frequen overcharging, caused its "demise" with all the rest. Well that, and the fact that he used it to beat a sandworm within an inch of its life for trying to eat his son.


	6. The Sixth Night: The Gluttony

**Disclaimer:** I own what is my own.

* * *

_"Chosen by history, a man becomes a warrior. Engraved into history, a warrior becomes a legend."_

_"I shall reclaim my soul!"_

* * *

**Thirteen Hallowed Nights**

**The Sixth Night:**

_"The Gluttony"_

By Corvus no Genmu

It is often a popular opinion that elevators are a modern method of torture the likes of which can drive one's sanity to the brink of madness and back again. Being trapped in a enclosed area traveling upwards to Heaven or falling down to the pits of Hell itself, surrounded on all sides by people with little understanding of personal space with the same little melody playing in ceaseless repetition in the background. There was of course the sheer longevity of being in the elevator, stopping at almost every floor but the one you desire and never seeming to reach because some idiot on either side of the door just had to push the button for another floor but your own.

Personally, Jacque didn't see it.

For one thing, the music was actually quite nice, one of Beethoven's works no doubt, and the elevator itself was actually quite spacious though that could be more because it was only himself and two others with him in the small box. At his right standing with both her hands gripping his own in a vice was a young child of eight years appearance, with obsidian hair that fell like a sheet down her back with a green hair band holding the dark locks away from her pale, porcelain face. She was dressed in a blouse of pale violet with a pair of blue jeans and sandals. Her backpack was midnight blue with little bats sewn across it courtesy of the woman on Jacque right.

Though she looked well into her mid-twenties and Jacque himself could at best be in his late teens, there was no doubt that the two of them belonged to one other. Those who were not so blind as to forget the instincts of old could just spare a glance at the two of them and almost see the connection between their hearts. She was dressed in form fitting clothes of red pants with a pale violet dress shirt that matched well her equally pale green tresses. Obviously it was she who held a bigger influence over the girl's fashion sense.

The elevator dinged and Jacque glanced up to see they had reached the top with little problem but his eyes turned back to the young girl as she heaved a relieved sigh as the doors opened. He led them out and catching her eyes, gave Samara a small proud smile though there was a small glimmer of despair in his eyes. She was devoted to him more than he thought and he worried where that devotion would her if she continued to follow him. A hand on his shoulder turned his faint emerald eyes to cool jade. Jacque couldn't help a small smile. Even with a small touch, Morrigan could clear away the clouds of concern in his heart.

The waiting room was large but considering that the rest of the whole floor was the office of the building's owner it was tiny in comparison. Samara turned suspicious eyes up at him. "I want to go with you." She said, refusing to relinquish her grip.

"Nothing's bad is going to happen Samara. I'm just going to have a talk with an old associate of mine, that's all." He adopted a mock stern expression. "Besides, don't you still have some homework to finish?"

Samara scowled though it was nothing like her old one. She turned her glare to the floor for while she enjoyed her new school-life and had actually made some friends of her own, there were some things that she hated about it and one of them was homework. "Math is evil…" She grumbled.

Jacque smiled indulgently. "Which is why I'm sure Morrigan can help you with it easily."

"Flatterer." Morrigan took Samara's hand and guided her to one of the chairs closest to the table on the far side away from the receptionist's desk though he heard well the words whispered through their bond. _Finish this quickly, Jacque. This tower reeks of anguish as old as the Makai. If it's strong enough for even Samara to feel even through my veil then my pity goes to this associate of yours, but if he continues to harm _our_ child I will kill him and be done with it._

Jacque blinked but kept his face emotionless though he wanted so badly to smile at her words. Though they were whispered between their minds, it was a rare thing for Morrigan to refer to Samara as theirs. He walked over to the receptionist's desk and was quickly met with a rather snide, "I'm sorry but if you're looking for children's services it is on the sixth floor."

Jacque's eyebrow twitched faintly. He appeared young yes but most did not dismiss him out of hand so quickly. Not a second time anyway. "Sorry but I'm here to see Mr. Silverstein."

The receptionist looked up from her computer, somehow managing to look down her nose at Jacque's pale ivory hair though he was dressed far better than most his age were want to do. "I don't know how you got past security downstairs," she said, shooting a withering glare at Morrigan who was busy helping Samara with her school work to do more than make a recognized gesture in return, "but Mr. Silverstein is far too busy to deal with the likes of you."

"Well seeing as I'm here anyway, why not do me the favor of simply letting him know that Olcadan is here to see him?" Jacque smiled in a rather disarming fashion despite the prominent canines and the faint coldness that suddenly permeated the area around the receptionist's desk.

Deciding to humor the child, she made a show of pretending to press the call button to Mr. Silverstein's office, not seeing the button actually being pushed down as she spoke. "Mr. Silverstein? There is a boy here who says he here to see you? A Mr. Olcadan?" At the silence, she smiled spitefully, preparing to call for security when the speaker suddenly crackled to life as a deep voice spoke with a strange inflection to its words, an accent forgotten in time.

"Send him in."

The tables were turned and Jacque did not bother to hide his smug smirk as he walked past the receptionist and entered the massive office. The office was indeed quite huge consisting primarily of a long hallway that led up to a intricately designed desk made up of fine mahogany with only a single chair for a visitor to sit upon, which looked pale in comparison to the near throne-like chair that resided behind the desk. Paintings like the walls, all from a different era of the arts, everyone an original made only by the best masters of their craft but though they were scattered across the ages it was easy to see the theme behind them. Jacque finally made it to the desk and spared only a passing glance at the company's logo, a revision of the symbol used for infinity, before focusing on the man he came to see.

"I must admit I am surprised… I haven't heard _that_ name in over 400 years…" The chair slowly turned to reveal a man of ebony skin, hairless and with an intricate tattoo marking the left eye which appeared to be made entirely of gold though it function as well as any ordinary eye. "If you know that name, then perhaps you know my own as well?"

Jacque tilted his head but decided to play the man's game. "To my knowledge, you did not bother with family names back then but you're birth name hasn't changed for well over three thousand years… Zasalamel…"

Both eyes narrowed at the name, focusing with a strange intensity upon Jacque, seeing further than where mundane eyes could go. The man leaned back in his chair, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he steepled his hands. "To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from the likes of _you_?"

The young man frowned, not liking the older man's tone any. "You think that you've been forgotten over the centuries?" Jacque scoffed loudly. "Not likely."

"So you are the one chosen to take me?" Zasalamel asked sounding amused. "I would have expected someone… older."

"I'm not here for you." Jacque denied. "I'm only here because you have something I need. Two somethings as a matter of fact."

Zasalamel's eyes narrowed and all sense of mirth was gone, replaced by something cold and remorseless. "I will acknowledge your spirit but that is all. Do not involve yourself with those swords if you wish to live. I shall have to kill you if you continue."

"Do not make threats you can't keep, Zasalamel." Jacque growled. "You've overstepped the boundaries and it was only through common courtesy that they haven't acted. You had the power to end it when you conquered him, overthrown him, but you didn't. You wasted that power and now, all these centuries later, you've doomed yourself.

"That's why I'm here, to offer one last chance at redemption or else they will act and I assure you Zasalamel, it will not be quiet, it will not be quick, and it will _not_ be merciful. Everything that has been touched by your machinations will fall and the world will repress back to the Dark Ages once more."

"A chance of redemption for my sins…? How foolish." Zasalamel rose to his feet and turned his back on Jacque. "Leave."

There was an almost audible snap and Jacque's emerald eyes were alit with a murderous intensity. "I have been kind. I have been patient. I have been humble. I would have you tell me where the swords lay and be done with you but now? You've forgotten your place in this world, Zasalamel and its high time you were reminded of where you stand."

"Funny…" A metallic sound and there in the man's hand was the scythe Kafziel, the ender of the lives of kings. "I was going to say the same for you!" The scythe swung and met—

Air.

Jacque was gone, or so it seemed.

"Do you know why your eye appears as it does, Zasalamel?" Jacque was behind him and Zasalamel whirled, his scythe swing upwards in a rising slash but again the young man was gone. "To every spell there is a weakness…" To the right! "I believe it has been said that the eyes are the window to the soul?"

A cold hand touched upon Zasalamel's face, caressing the skin just beneath his left eye.

"Goodbye."

* * *

"The Tower of Remembrance…" whispered Jacque, staring up at the massive tower that rose in a massive spire that reached beyond the limits that mortal creation could go. It was like a spear piercing the breast of the sky to try and slay an uncaring god but Jacque knew otherwise for though he were but a child himself back then, there were few who hadn't heard of the legend of the Warrior King of a Thousand Swords. Of course Zasalamel would leave the swords here, in the very place from whence they were truly born in the first place.

He started forward but a hand stopped him. He stopped and looked to Morrigan who stared at him in open fear. She was in her true form though her mortal clothing remained and she had the cusp of one massive wing wrapped tightly around a shivering Samara who hugged her tightly like she was a lifeline. "Jacque… this place… I've never felt such energies in all of my life…! Not even Pyron could reach such power as this! Jacque… whatever is in that tower… it's better if we leave it there!"

Jacque sighed and glanced back at the tower. "I wish I could, Morrigan, I truly do… but those swords… if I don't take them here, now, when they're still protected under the veils of Zasalamel's magic, then a worse character than I shall find them… and that frightens me."

Morrigan's eyes widened before a firm resolve steeled her veins. "I will come with you. I will not let you face this alone."

"Morrigan—"

"We are equals! You are not anymore my servant than I am yours! I am going with you."

"Me too…" Samara whispered, still quivering but there was steel in her eyes too. She slowly stepped out from under Morrigan's wing and stood beside her to meet Jacque's eyes. "I'm going too."

There was a painful clench in his heart. _This is foolishness… I'm just as frightened as they, and the both of them know this…_ But he couldn't deny either of them.

* * *

The climb had been long and arduous, not because of any vicious remnant still lingering in the halls and rooms of the massive tower but by their absence. Time seemed to stretch on for hours and still it seemed like they had barely begun the climb at all for what few windows that marked the curling spiral of stairs revealed nothing but the wastes that surrounded the tower and a steadily darkening sky. By the time they reached the top, they were well past the point of exhaustion. Samara was clinging pitifully to Jacque's back, her arms wrapped loosely around his neck while his arms kept a firm grip around her legs. Morrigan's illusions of mortality were gone completely and there was even a faint sheen of sweat across her forehead and though she wasn't panting for breath like Samara, she did take large breaths. Jacque himself was nearing the edge of throwing dignity to the four winds when he saw them.

The larger of the two was pierced straight through what could be its eye and was almost organic in nature though the skin of its blade was now mere stone. The other was a thin blade in comparison but by the way it was molded it could almost be angelic were it not made of plain rock like her brother. Behind both weapons was a throne where a stone king sat in a bored pose, trapped in eternity to forever gaze upon a battle without a victor.

Morrigan's back straightened and she stared long and hard at the two swords. "That's…"

"The Swords of Damnation and Salvation… the demonic blade Soul Edge," Jacque whispered, "and its opposing twin Soul Calibur."

"I thought they were a myth…" whispered Morrigan with a faint reverence in her voice as she stared at the interlocked blades. "Father—" She cut herself off, looking pained but smiled as she felt Jacque's spirit caress her own through their bond.

Jacque carefully set Samara down on her feet, the girl suddenly finding new strength in the presence of the swords. "Are they alive?" She asked for the one called Soul Edge did appear to have been at some point and his sister Soul Calibur could be no different than him.

"No. Their power is gone, absorbed by a man who thought himself a savior of the world… and in a way, I suppose he was." Jacque started forward but then paused. "Samara, you don't have any of your toys with you by any chance?"

"No…" She shook her head. "Why?"

"Stay far away from the swords regardless." Jacque carefully walked up to the stone swords. He circled them like a wolf inspecting an unknown predator that had suddenly appeared in its territory. Though the swords were dead, for lack of a better term, they had power still to invoke such feelings of terror in him. Yes, he was afraid now than he had ever been before. The things he had seen, the stuff that makes nightmares look like a child's doodling, were a calculated threat. He knew what he was walking into then.

He doesn't now.

Seeing that there were few options left to him at this point, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small octagonal shaped talisman no bigger than a large coin in size with an adequate amount of thickness to allow one to properly grasp it. On its back were faint scriptures of the Orient but what little of it could be seen did not betray its origins. The front was another matter entirely for the depiction there was quite clear despite the markings being solid black to the talismans otherwise gray coloration.

A rat plain and simple.

Jacque reached into his other pocket and pulled out something of similar size but of an entirely different shape and design. It was a sphere in shape but it bore many cuts and lines across its golden surface to give it the appearance of an eye and though that is what it was once used for, it served a whole new purpose entirely. Even with the gloves he now wore on his hands, Jacque could feel the anguish within the eye, the weight of it far stronger than any one soul should be able to bear but there was no ordinary soul within this eye.

Jacque carefully set the talisman down so that it rested upon both blades at once; giving no one a greater feel for its power though he had yet to activate it. He glanced back once more to the girls behind him before staring down at the talisman. If he did this, there would be no turning back, no chances left. He hesitated knowing that if he did this wrong even by the slightest margin, the swords would become unbalanced and a new war of souls and swords would begin anew. He knew this, but to do nothing meant that he everything he had strived for up to this very moment would have been a waste and that was one thing he wouldn't do.

He tapped the talisman and stood back as light carved itself in the shape of the rat before it enveloped the swords in a cocoon of power and light. A storm grew suddenly in the sky above, lightning piercing through the roof to strike the orb but it wasn't enough. Twin screams echoed from inside the sphere, one deep and masculine roaring in a fierce agony, the other light and feminine crying in the dark. Jacque's hand clenched around Zasalamel's eye.

He had no choice.

He tossed the eye inside the sphere.

The storm above reached new intensity and the roof was ripped away to reveal a black void where red lightning duel with a hailstorm of azure. The two elements were twisting around each other like mad serpents and steadily growing brighter with every curve. They were drawing together above the cocoon of light and with wide eyes, Jacque realized what was about to occur. He was in front of Morrigan and Samara in an instant, dragging them both down to the floor with his body between them and the blast, a faint shadow of what appeared like wings stretching out across from the folds of his long jacket.

The explosion was either deafening or soundless, but it didn't matter for the sheer intensity of the light pierced downwards from the heavens and clear onto the other side of the planet. When the world stopped trembling and the only light was that of a setting sun, Jacque slowly opened his eyes. He met frightened blue and concerned jade with a reassuring smile before he rose to his feet, pulling both girls up with him as he did so. He turned and felt his heart clench in a vice.

Either by the explosion or by their own power, the swords had been blown clear of each other and no pierced the rooms center circle like two combatants preparing for battle. On the far left with her jian blade pierced into the ground was Soul Calibur, the ethereal glow of her core shining like a freshly born star. Opposite her with its zweihander blade almost eating the floor was Soul Edge, the core that served as his eye twitching this way. However, it was neither blade that had Jacque's full attention and fear but the man that now stood from his restored throne.

A faint wind blew the dusted remnants of the destroyed talisman past a stunned Jacque, teasing him with the knowledge that its powers were used beyond their measure and thus in its final act, did exactly as Jacque hoped it would do and even more so. Through the sacrifice of Zasalamel's ancient soul, it brought the swords back to life and with them, their one true master, and the man who was called the Hero King.

Algol.

* * *

_Temperance seals shut the slavering jaws of gluttony._

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

_Soul Calibur_

My favorite weapons-only fighting game series, _Soul Calibur_ holds a large collection of fighters with an even larger amount of uniquely styled weapons and various forms of combat. Personally, I've always favored long range weapons myself but it's rather nice laying a smackdown with a powerhouse like Nightmare. I chose Soul Calibur mostly for the fact that the story itself is _incredibly_ dark considering that Soul Edge is a devourer of souls and I played that idea further by having his sister be the purifier. And before you ask, yes it has been proven that Soul Edge is male while Soul Calibur is female.

_Zasalamel_

If you've beaten _Soul Calibur 4_ with Zasalamel, you shouldn't be surprised to find him alive and well in the modern age. In his ending, he absorbs the powers of Soul Edge and Soul Calibur, thus making him a full immortal rather than being caught up in that reincarnation spell he foolishly cast upon himself. It is because of his ancient soul that Jacque was able to use the rat talisman as he did.

_Gluttony_

Again, Soul Edge is the devourer of souls and though a purifier, Soul Calibur does need a valiant soul to use her full power. Alive for as long as he was, Zasalamel's soul was a monstrous banquet to the soul swords.

_The Rat Talisman_

The rat talisman grants "motion to the motionless" or rather, it brings inanimate objects such as statues or toys to life. On its own, it is able to bring a _single_ such item to life with _all_ of its powers and capabilities. By use of Zasalamel's soul as an incredible overcharge, it was able to bring not one but _four_ such motionless objects back to life and in their prime. Soul Edge, Soul Calibur, the Hero King Algol… and one other… One mustn't forget that the beam traveled _through_ the Earth and out the otherside, afterall…


	7. The Seventh Night: The Pride

**Disclaimer:** I own what is my own.

* * *

_"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son! Flesh of the servant, willingly sacrificed, you will revive your master. Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe."_

_"I want there to be no mistake in anybody's mind. Harry Potter escaped me by a lucky chance. I will prove my power by killing him, here and now, when there is no Dumbledore to help him, and no mother to die for him. I will give him his chance. He will be allowed to fight. Untie him, Wormtail… and give him back his wand."_

* * *

**Thirteen Hallowed Nights**

**The Seventh Night:**

_"The Pride"_

By Corvus no Genmu

Harry struggled to his feet, the cut in his arm still bleeding but it was a slow and steady drip in sync with the hammering of his heart. The wound of his leg kept him leaning for support on the gravestone of Voldemort's murdered father but his grip on his wand did not slacken even as his mind raced for some viable way out of this horrifying mess. Voldemort was alive again with his power restored in a fresh body and Harry? The Boy-Who-Lived was nearing the red of magical exhaustion and he was still losing blood from two distinct wounds. It would take a miracle to get him out of this, but God wasn't listening this night… but someone else was.

It started slowly, a strange almost foreign sound that had the Death Eaters' heads snapping about like frightened dogs while their master stood calm and collected as both he and Harry turned to the sound, his servants moving to reveal a young man relaxing atop a pedestal, applauding Voldemort with slow and steady claps.

Voldemort's wand was aimed at the man's heart, a spell at the tip of his tongue but he was curious. There was no change in the smell of wind meaning that the man had been there the entire time and Voldemort had passed off his scent as nothing more than fresh rembrances laid in the graveyard. He supposed the man had been hiding under an invisibility cloak but even if that were so why hide? Why not stop his return before it begun? Obviously the man was no agent of Dumbledore's but he was no ally to Voldemort either.

"Marvelous, simply marvelous. You answered their questions and told them absolutely nothing at the same time, playing to their petty inbred beliefs like a master."

Voldemort's answering smile was a vicious one, his serpent eyes gleaming red in the night. "You speak as though you know me, but I can't say that I know you. Tell me who you are and why you are here and perhaps, I'll keep you as a servant to Nagini."

"A high honor I'm sure," drawled the young man, taking a long drink from a cup that rested by his feet. The clouds above drew across the moon and the flames were not bright enough to illuminate the young man in any detail but some features were obvious. His hair was like ivory and cut short, barely reaching the nape of his neck, and seemed to glow whenever light shined upon it but it was the man's eyes that held Harry's attention, locking him in place with an unspoken spell. They were as green as his own and were he foolish to believe, to hope, they could even be related by the similarities.

"I am Jacque and I'm here to help fulfill the prophecy."

_A prophecy…?_ thought Harry. There was a prophecy between him and Voldemort? Surely not, for Dumbledore would have told him of it… But no, the proof was already there without the words being spoken

Voldemort's eyes widened and Harry couldn't believe the raw fear in them but it was gone so quickly he passed it off as imaginary for now Voldemort's eyes were colder than ice and he stood relaxed before Jacque though his wand did not waver. "You say you know of the prophecy between Harry Potter and myself? Speak it then boy, if you dare."

Jacque took another sip from cup before reciting, "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…" Jacque's eyes opened and met Voldemort's without fear. "And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have a power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"

Jacque swirled the contents of his cup, inspecting it for a moment before taking another drink. "Rather bland as far as prophecies go but considering whom it was delivered through…" He took another sip.

Voldemort's eyes were narrowed, flitting back towards Harry and he smiled as he recognized the Full Body-Bind curse. He lowered his wand as he spoke, "Do you take me for a fool? I kill the boy like he is and my power will still be questioned."

Jacque tilted his head, his smile almost like a second moon. "You weren't listening were you? _Either must die at the _hand_ of the other_. Even your power will not end his life."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. He didn't hesitate further. "Avada Kedavra."

A flash of green and suddenly…

Nothing…

* * *

"I've to admit, I thought it would take more coaxing to get him to do that."

"Am I dead…?"

"Do you hear that? It's the sound of your heart not beating but then, considering where we are, it's not that surprising."

"Where are we…?"

"… Where do you think the dead go to wait before they take their final trip to the Hereafter?"

It was quick, like a light being turned on and Harry blinked rapidly at the suddenness of it. He looked around slowly and recognized the familiar Platform 9 ¾ but was confused by it. Was this the place really—?

"No, it isn't. This is what you believe it to be and so it is." Harry looked to his left and was surprised to find the man Jacque sitting beside him and with the misty light of the platform, was able to see him perfectly. Jacque couldn't have been more than nineteen at best and yet his eyes looked so old, like they had seen things that would have most men running in fear. His clothes were almost muggle-like only that they resembled a wizard's standards if that wizard had to constantly go between the magical world and the muggle one.

"You… I don't know who you are but you can—"

"Relax." Jacque pushed Harry back down onto the bench with startling ease. "In case you haven't noticed. You're not all the way dead yet."

"But I'm about to be! … Aren't I?"

"That is why I'm here. I'm going to give you something you haven't had in a long time. I'm going to give you a choice." The Hogwart's Express whistled shrilly, steam puffing out from its engine. It was preparing for departure. "You can enter that train and go where you're bound to be, or you can go back and finish this fight with Voldemort and finally be able to have a normal life. Well, as normal as a wizard's life can be I suppose."

"Finish the fight?" repeated Harry, incredulous. "How am I supposed to do that? He's killed me hasn't he?"

Jacque shook his head. "I've planted the seed of doubt in him and should you arise, it will bloom. He will not fight you magic to magic. He'll do exactly as the prophecy says; he'll fight you hand-to-hand…" Jacque suddenly smiled viciously, and Harry started at the familiarity of it, "or rather, sword-to-sword."

"… But if I don't want to go back? If I want to go on?"

Jacque shrugged. "I won't stop you."

Harry stared at Jacque in silence for a long moment. "Why are you doing this? You're obviously powerful, why can't you do what Dumbledore can't and just stop him on your own!"

Jacque turned to gaze at the train. "I hold no love for the wizards of this continent, not anymore. They've forgotten the truth about magic and its citizens. They've deluded themselves into thinking that magic is a right but they're wrong. Your kind is _privileged_ to possess magic and if they keep abusing it as they have been, demeaning it with their rules and regulations, binding and corralling its true citizens like they have…"

Jacque shook his head. "But that is not my concern or my problem." He turned to face Harry again. "If you choose to go back, I shall help you with _all_ that I can, but in return I want something of yours. Something that shouldn't be in your possession anyway."

"But if I don't go back?"

Jacque laughed and the sound of it echoed throughout the otherwise silent platform. He was slowly fading away, starting from the bottom of his feet. "If you have to ask… then you already know the answer." And he was gone.

Harry sat at the bench for what could have been eternity for what was time in this realm? In actuality it was only long enough for Harry to rise to his feet, his wand appearing in his hand and vanishing just like Jacque before him. He never saw the small form of a mutilated creature that he left behind, the fragment of Voldemort's soul that had resided unknowingly inside him for most of his life. The thing's mouth was wide as it screamed its silent cries as burning chains and hooks ensnared its skin and dragged it away into a burning abyss as the last vestiges of the platform vanished into oblivion.

* * *

_Do not move until I tell you. Allow the Slytherin in you a chance to play._ Harry would have groaned at the words that seemed to pound in his head but the very idea of doing anything itself was painful enough for the young wizard. So he waited and listened. He had been expecting shouts of triumph, cries of victory… Imagine Harry's surprise at hearing hushed whispers, disquieting murmurs.

"My Lord…!"

"That will do…" Voldemort's voice sounded strange, weakened almost but it was strengthening. The snake-like man rose slowly to his feet, his eyes sparkling with anger and the gathered Death Eaters stepped back en masse. "The boy… is he dead?"

_Now Harry!_ Suddenly filled with renewed strength, his wounds healed as old scars, Harry Potter rose to his feet. "No, the boy is not!"

The Death Eaters recoiled back as far as they dared and Wormtail, the simpering coward, skittered back into the shadows like the rat that he was. Voldemort stared in open astonishment at Harry who stood not only alive but _healed_! By the Killing Curse! It was impossible!

Jacque applauded once more, just as slowly as before and this time sporting a sad, defeated smile. "There, you see? You cannot kill him with magic."

Evidently, Voldemort did not believe him for his wand was up and another Killing Curse was shot not at Harry, but at Jacque.

The young man's torso vanished like mist being blown away and the spell passed harmlessly through. He solidified once more and glared at the stunned Dark Lord. "Do _not_ do that again." Jacque rose to his feet, setting his cup down atop the gravestone. "I am here as the prophecy commands me to be here for I am a Witness to its end. I shall die only when the prophecy is fulfilled and it shan't be fulfilled until either of you are _dead!_"

Jacque made a passing gesture and twin bolts of lightning struck the earth between Voldemort and Harry, revealing a pair of swords the likes of which took their breaths away for very different reasons. The first sword, the one resting blade down at Voldemort's feet was the most hideous sword that Harry had ever seen. It was a large blade, a zweihander by shape and design, but save for the bloodied steel of the blade proper, it was almost entirely organic with a large demonic eye gazing hungrily at the gathered souls around it.

His gaze went down at the sword before him and he felt his spirit lifting just at the mere sight of the crystalline blade of azure diamond's edge and ethereal light. If the other blade was to be made for evil, than this sword before Harry was for the just and good of heart for surely a sword as beautiful as this could do no evil.

"Soul Edge and Soul Calibur…" whispered Voldemort.

"Both of them can be yours," said Jacque, slowly backing away. "Provided you live, of course." The swords pulsed with their respected energies before suddenly flying through the air to the hands of those closest to them. With a start and reflexes of a Seeker, Harry grasped the hilt of Soul Calibur and in that very instant, the voice of Soul Calibur spoke to him. "_This is the day the Boy-Who-Lived dies… so that Harry Potter may live._"

At that same moment, Voldemort took hold of the demonic Soul Edge and like Harry, heard the wicked blade's voice echoing in his mind. "**This is the day Lord Voldemort dies… so that a new god may live!**"

Emerald became azure and red became like fire as the two swords joined as one with their wielders. Harry and Voldemort stood like statues, their heads bowed as the energy of the swords pulsed like a pair of rapid heartbeats until the glow was constant and in that instant, Harry and Voldemort _moved_.

* * *

Harry was like lightning, flitting about Voldemort with Soul Calibur dicing the graves around them with every swing he made against the dark wizard, but where Harry's had the agility, it was Voldemort's sword that possessed the power. The ground around him was cleaved with the tiniest of swings and heads almost rolled as Voldemort returned the attack back upon Harry with startling speed despite the massiveness of the Soul Edge.

The Death Eaters scrambled away from the combatants, some only just escaping with their limbs intact. Jacque just retook his seat atop the unmarked grave and took to admiring the ring that adorned his finger enjoying the last few gulpfuls of wine as the battle continued before him.

Harry was the faster of the two but a single swing by Voldemort was well worth twelve of his own. Voldemort was covered in a multitude of cuts but the man didn't so much as slow down in his berserker-like state, but the voice of Soul Calibur still whispered to Harry. "_See his soul, Little One. It is a mere piece of what it once was. He will not stand long for Soul Edge has devoured two pieces of it already. He hungers for a third._"

_What does that mean?_ Harry ducked beneath a swing that would have lopped off his head and rolled away from a downward strike the cleaved a gravestone in half. _Is that how he's survived all this time? Breaking his soul apart and leaving it in pieces?_

"_Yes. It is a forbidden art and with good reason. You see what it has done to his body; imagine what has been done to his soul._" Harry slashed at Voldemort's free arm, cutting a deep gash into it and rendering it useless but still Voldemort did not acknowledge the pain, his mind all but devoured by Soul Edge. "_In fact… there is a piece now._"

There was a sudden loud cracking noise and all eyes turned to Jacque. He was still admiring his ring but his other hand was full of very big, and very much dead, Nagini. The snake's neck had been snapped back along her spine and knowing nothing more could be done with the thing, Jacque tossed the carcass aside. "And then… there was one…" His emerald eyes locked with Harry's own. "Finish Him."

Nothing more was needed. The loss of Nagini broke Soul Edge's hold enough to allow Voldemort's rage and loss through and with it came the pain of his wounds. His scream was cut halfway through as the top half of his head went flying into the graveyard to land at Jacque's feet. The young man stared at it in disgust but his eyes went up to meet the gathered Death Eaters as Wormtail, dear traitorous little Wormtail, voiced their shared thought aloud.

"Y-Y-You said you'd d-di-disappear…"

"About that…" Soul Edge's eye shined and the Dark Mark shined like fresh blood on the forearms of the Death Eaters. They screamed in pure agony before collapsing to the ground, all alive but now they shared a fate similar to their fallen Dark Lord. By accepting the Dark Mark, they had accepted a sliver of the wicked wizard's soul and Soul Edge devoured those pieces with interest. Most would not survive the night and the rest would be doomed to a half-life, a cursed life.

"I lied. I do that sometimes."

Soul Edge's eye closed in satisfaction and it vanished into a glowing red ball and vanished away into the night. Harry, panting for breath and just short of collapsing to the ground, fell heavily against a nearby grave marker as he felt a gentle caress across his forehead before Soul Calibur followed in the wake of her brother, a soft azure light vanishing away into the darkness.

Jacque watched them go, seeing farther into the darkness than even a wizard's eyes could go and nodded his thanks before turning his attention back to Harry. He rose and slowly walked over to the boy who futilely struggled to keep his eyes open even as darkness edged at the corners of his vision. He leaned in close, his voice a faint whisper on the winds.

"When he asks you why…"

* * *

_… A familiar ceiling…_ Harry tiredly blinked away the dust in his eyes and slowly sat up in the bed that had all but been reserved for him the Hospital Wing.

"Hey, he's awake!" Harry winced, wishing that wasn't the case as blurred faces appeared hovering over him as they all started to talk at once when he interrupted them.

"Someone hand me my glasses, please?" A hand steadied him as his glasses were placed carefully over his nose. "Thanks Hermione… How did I…?"

"That man, Jacque, brought you here," said Hermione, looking worried. "Harry, we, we saw everything. Everyone at the stadium saw it…"

Harry gulped, a pit suddenly opening up in his stomach. "They saw…?"

Neville nodded. "Right before you and Cedric agreed to take the cup together a big ball appeared above the pitch. It was like one of those muggle things… a telly?" He asked Hermione for confirmation.

She nodded and continued, "We saw everything Harry… Everyone that was there to watch the Third Task saw You-Know-Who's return."

"His end you mean!" Ron laughed but it didn't reach his eyes. "The Ministry's chaos over it… they rounded up the Death Eaters that showed up at the graveyard… those that were alive anyway…"

Ginny nodded. "Dad's probably not going to be home for _months_. Minister Fudge wants that man, Jacque, dead or alive. At least that means Padfoot can get a break…"

"What? Why would they—?" asked Harry before he realized. "The swords…"

Hermione nodded and he saw now the fear in her eyes. "Harry… those swords, there's not much written about them but what I could find… Harry, it was terrible! No one should have that kind of power and Jacque has them _both!_"

"He doesn't." Luna shook her head, pale golden locks swishing. "It doesn't matter anyway… The Ministry will never be able to find him, never mind actually holding him." She sighed sadly. "They could should be searching for the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks."

Hermione stared incredulously at the younger girl. "Luna! That man _stole_ from Harry and Dumbledore! He should be found and—"

"Wait!" interrupted Harry. "What did he steal from me?"

A wizened old voice answered him. "Your father's invisibility cloak… and my wand I'm sad to say." Albus Dumbledore walked into the room with his eyes empty of their usual twinkle and a strange weight setting heavily upon his shoulders. "Best be off to bed before Madame Pomfrey returns from giving Minister Fudge some much needed Calming Potion."

Though hesitant, Harry's friends heeded Dumbledore's unspoken request and with bids of farewells and promises to talk again first thing in the morning, they left the Hospital Wing.

Dumbledore watched them go and spoke before Harry had chance to. "The man within Hogwarts has already been taken care of, Harry. Jacque's fiancée saw to that." The Headmaster turned his eyes to Harry and the boy found his eyes locked with the old man's. "Harry… why did you do it? Why did you agree to give your invisibility cloak to Jacque?"

Unbidden, the answer came from Harry's mind and he spoke them clearly. "He said… Because Death's gifts shouldn't be abused…" He swallowed, "and that Death… always gets back what's his. It's only a matter of time…"

* * *

_Humility shatters the false ideals built of pride's arrogance._

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

_Harry Potter_

For this, I'm wearing a special helmet that'll stop me from entering my soapbox. First of all, I love the Harry Potter books when I first read them but having reread them and reading the works of more… hmm, adult-minded writers, I've realized the many numerous faults of the series and I—_ZAP!_ Yeow! Back on track… out of all the books, _The Goblet of Fire_ was my favorite, especially as it was the last good book to be—_ZAP!_ Ow! Damn this thing!

_The Horcruxes & the Deathly Hallows_

I always thought the horcruxes were a rather cheap cop-out (though not as bad as with recent events in _Bleach_) especially in concerns to Harry Potter. I'm pretty sure as out the sucky epilogue, he's called the Boy-Who-Lived-Died-And-Lived-Again… god the Wizarding World and its hyphens, really what's—_ZAP!_ Ouch! Okay, okay, back to the point… if it weren't already obvious, Jacque made use of the soul swords before granting them to Voldemort and Harry to use in their final battle. He he had Soul Edge devour the pieces in the locket and diadem, thus destroying them, but made use of Soul Calibur by way of the cup and the ring.

As for the Deathly Hallows themselves, granted many speculate that they were created by a trio of gifted brothers. I call bullshit on that. Now, I can see the invisibility cloak and the wand being made by human hands, but the resurrection stone? That's a kind of magic that no _living_ being can create.

_Pride_

If the Wizarding World has but one sin it is the sin of arrogance, the pride that they are the rightful rulers of the magical world, nay, the _entire_ world. It has been proven time and again, both in the actual works and the works of dedicated fans, that is _not_ the case and sooner or later, the Wizarding World will enter another civil war more likely made up of those they've persecuted

_The Snake Talisman_

The snake talisman grants the power of invisibility to all sight. I used this talisman for two reasons; first, the irony was too good to pass up. Second, most spells, particularly the violent ones, _always_ cast some form of light so one overpowered snake talisman and Jacque becames _completely transparent_. True there is no block the Killing Curse, at least by magical means as mundane seems to work just fine but nooo, the wizards are too good for—_ZAP!_ Auch! Alright, anyway, there's nothing to be said that the Killing Curse can't simply _miss the target_. And again the irony was too good to pass up.


	8. The Eighth Night: Family

**Disclaimer:** I own what is my own.

* * *

_"What is it that makes a man a man? Is it his origins — the way things start? Or is it something else, something harder to describe?"_

* * *

**Thirteen Hallowed Nights**

**The Eighth Night:**

_"Family"_

By Corvus no Genmu

It was proving remarkably easy to enter places that most would deem as secure, but wasn't security just a relative term to most? What use was a guard who could not see, a dog who could not smell? What use was there for traps if they would not be sprung, of doors that would not remain closed? He supposed that they were truly well protected from mundane means but what was the mundane to the supernatural? Not that there weren't a few traps and protections that kept some of the nastier things from creeping about but even they were but a simple trip cord to those with far greater power as to actually fear such mediocre defenses of silver and oak.

Finding his room wasn't hard, he just followed the cat. Two tailed and black as midnight, with one eye of ocean blue and the other burning amber, the feathered wings of the nekomata flexed as it gazed behind to make sure Jacque was following behind and spared a feline grin at the contingent of ordinary cats that lined the hall like soldiers before a king. In a way, the behavior wasn't all that unexpected all considering… Still, Jacque hoped this wouldn't become a common thing or enjoy a decent walk in the park would become far too troublesome…

Nibi, the nekomata, entered the large room without pause and sighting its sleeping occupant, made itself useful by leaping on the red-skin's massive chest, startling him awake by the unexpected weight. A massive right hand composed entirely of stone nearly reintroduced the nekomata. Golden eyes stared about in surprise, narrowing at the twin tails and ebony wings though there was a faint smile on the bearded face. A soft human hand stroked Nibi's head. "Well, well, I gotta say you're a whole new kind of cat…"

"Nekomata, or cat spirit if you'd prefer." Jacque stepped fully into the room.

Amber eyes turned to Jacque, taking in his young, almost teenaged appearance but frowned at the strange sense of familiarity of those emerald orbs and pale, ivory hair. "Who are you?"

Jacque's smile was almost sad but there was a mischievous sheen to his eyes. "I once told you that time does not exist. The past happened, the present is happening, and the future never happened."

Amber orbs narrowed further before widening with sudden realization. Hellboy leapt to his booted feet and was quick to envelop Jacque in a massive bear-hug as Nibi flew up to a nearby shelf and smiled down at them in clear amusement. "Uncle Monshroud! You crazy old coot where have you been?"

"Ah…" Jacque gasped for air but returned the hug as best as he could. "It's good to see you to, lad… but my name is Jacque… this time."

Hellboy set Jacque down, still grinning as his tail curled excitedly about him. "Jacque? Man, what kind of name is that?"

"An accurate one, I assure you." Jacque glanced about the room, not surprised to find a shelf full of books on the occult and wondered how many happened to have comic books hidden amongst their ancient pages. A large television dominated one side of the room with a nice collection of movies beneath them, a few of which held a theme that Jacque did not miss, and of course a rack that held most of Hellboy's primary weapons. A large cart that was piled with plates sat to the side, left over from Hellboy's second dinner no doubt. "Pancakes for dinner?" He chided, playfully punching the taller man's shoulder. "You're going to rot your teeth out if you don't lay off on all the sweets."

"Yeah, yeah, like I haven't heard that before." Hellboy rolled his eyes and took a seat at his bed. "Seriously though, what brings you to this neck of the woods? I thought you'd still be in hiding after that thing in Britain."

"Ah, heard about that did you?" asked Jacque, taking a seat on a nearby recliner. _Oh, a back massager… nice…_

Hellboy snorted loudly. "Heard about it? Pop had a heck of a time convincing the President not to put your face at the top of every agency's hit list. Hell, the M.B.I. is still shittin' bricks over it and those idiots at G.I.W. have totally lost what little sanity they had, though I think it was more to do with all that crap going on in that British ministry."

"Not going to ask about the swords? What I've done with them or where they may be?"

Hellboy shrugged indifferently, patting his pockets for a cigar. "Father said if there was anyone who could guarantee that those swords never fell into the wrong hands, it'd be you. Still never figured out how he knew it was you just by seeing that photograph…"

Jacque pulled out a cigar and held it out to Hellboy who took it with grumbled thanks as he lighted it. "Broom always had a way about seeing things the way they're supposed to be. Even his own death." Hellboy stiffened, the cigar held just short of his crimson lips. "I know you don't care to be reminded of it, but I'm sure he was glad to have died as he lived, fighting the good fight."

"Yeah… I'm sure he was…" Hellboy took a long drag of his cigar and let it out slowly. "So what kind of new hell brings you this way?"

"Not every visit I make is about the end of the world, lad." Jacque chided.

"Oh yeah? What about that whole thing with Gozer in New York?" asked Hellboy.

"As I recall, you weren't involved in that anymore than I." said Jacque.

Hellboy grunted at that but continued, "How about that thing down in Pennsylvania?"

"A localized plague that resulted in only seven survivors out a city of thousands is somehow my fault?" Jacque asked. "Or are you just grumpy about that one zombie tossing you like a football?"

"Hey! That thing was a tank with legs, damn it!"

"I thought you did?"

"Oh, funny. Like I've not heard that one before…" grumbled Hellboy, taking another long drag of his cigar.

_Over fifty years old and he still pouts like a baby…_ Jacque sighed and started to dig around in his pockets for something. "Now don't be like that, lad. After all, I've still got a present to give don't I?"

Hellboy didn't rise to the bait though he did peek out the corner of one eye. Monshroud's visits were rare and far between but when he did drop by it was always with a small gift or two that was either a powerful relic of magic thought lost, or something more personal between the two of them. He still had that enchanted mirror hidden away beneath his clothes and, until recently, had made what some might call excessive use of it to spy, that is, to look after a certain female pyrokinetic

"Hold out your right hand and close your eyes." Hellboy quirked an eyebrow but did as Jacque asked. He felt something small fall into his palm and opened his eyes. It was a small stone talisman of some sort but he didn't particularly care for that so much as the image it depicted. It was the face of a tusked boar, or as Hellboy thought of it…

"It's a pig. What the hell, Monshroud?"

"While you do eat like one, that's not why I'm giving you that talisman. Now, focus your mind on it and nothing else. There is only you and that little piece of stone. The world is an illusion, its people a soundless wind, its dangers forgotten." Jacque whispered, his voice strangely hypnotic and Hellboy's eyes glazed over as he unknowingly followed the young man's commands. "Now… take its power as your own, draw it into your hand."

The runes along the Hand of Doom that served as Hellboy's right arm lit up with fiery light but it was overshadowed by the lines of the talisman alighting themselves with greater intensity before the stone suddenly cracked into pieces, shocking Hellboy out of Jacque's hold. He stared at the smile pile of dust in his hands and turned to glare at Jacque. "What the hell—" He stopped dead in his tracks for what he saw past Jacque, in the reflection of the door. He rose to his feet and stumbled forward, raising an unsure hand as to touch the reflective metal for there in its pristine surface was an impossible sight.

It was himself with soft pink skin, his forehead smooth and clear save for the wrinkles of an astonished brow. Everything in that reflection was human save for his eyes, which remained the same burning amber as before but there were other differences as well. Whereas Hellboy was dressed in a simple black muscle-shirt and dark cargo pants, his reflection sport the attire of a knight of valor, a warrior of justice, a defender of the weak.

The reflected man wore his heart on his sleeve and it beat to the rhythm of a human's own. A king's crown remained atop his head and there in the background was a stone pedestal, a legendary sword of power matched only by its Eastern twin sat waiting to make a choice once again but whether that choice be for a Hero of Salvation, or a Beast of Armageddon remains lost in the mists of the far future.

Only by gazing at his own hand did Hellboy see that the reflection was an illusion, he still bore the flesh of a monster.

"The eyes of the boar allow no such thing as lies, they see the truth of what lies within." Jacque quoted from where he stood just out of Hellboy's sight. "That was the talisman's power and now it is yours. You have to merely focus on the truth and you shall see it clearly, but sometimes… the truth can be more damning than the lies. Let the power fade and you will see the masks people wear to hide from the rest of the world… and from themselves."

Hellboy swallowed, his voice gruff as he spoke, "This… this is what I really am…? I'm… a man?"

"The blood of a devil runs in your veins, and so too does the tainted blood of human royalty. By your blood, you may well be the Key to the End, but as far as I can see…" A hand gently squeezed Hellboy's shoulder. "The heart purifies the cursed blood by the choice of your soul. What you see is not what you or anyone else can see. This reflection can only be seen by Truth's eyes and it can be just as beautiful as it can be cruel. Whatever you may become it will be by your choice and no one else. This is my last gift to you, lad. Use it well."

"What?" Hellboy turned and found himself alone in his room. He frowned and turned once more to his reflection and saw the man that he was on the inside. He focused on the lies and saw pale flesh turn crimson, two stumps of shaved horns atop his head, a massive stone hand outweighing the left… The frown remained as he stared at the reflection of his body as he thought back to what he had seen earlier. Jacque had been careful to remain out of Hellboy's sight but the half-devil saw the hand that laid itself upon his shoulder.

It was the hand of a skeleton.

"Aw, crap…"

* * *

_Two lonely souls can make one happy family._

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

_Hellboy_

I had a tough time picking the "comic book" night for this story in all actuality. Originally I was going to go with Todd McFarlane's _Spawn_ but I thought that would be too overpowering for all parties involved, and I've lost touch of _Spawn_ in recent years anyway… _Hellboy_ made the better choice in the end cause of his connection to the magical world and the world of the supernatural. Besides, Hellboy _is_, or was depending on your point-of-view, a government agent and considering the sheer number of activities he's likely had a hand in… Well, let's touch on that briefly.

_The Easter Eggs_

_"Hell, the M.B.I. is still shittin' bricks over it and those idiots at G.I.W. have totally lost what little sanity they had, though I think it was more to do with all that crap going on in that British ministry."_

The M.B.I. (not to be confused with the M.I.B.) is the magical version of the F.B.I. and C.I.A. and are _far_ more competent than those lazy, misbegotten—_ZAP!_ Ouch! Okay, how the hell did the anti-soap-box helmet zap me when I'm not even _wearing it?_ Oh, and the G.I.W. are the Guys in White… obviously, there's some tension between them and the M.I.B.

_"Oh yeah? What about that whole thing with Gozer in New York?"_

Come on, like I wasn't going to make at least one_ Ghostbusters_ reference somewhere.

_"A localized plague that resulted in only seven survivors out a city of thousands is somehow my fault?" _

That woulf be the _Left 4 Dead_ series which I don't actually play, rather I enjoy the hilarious works of the deviantArtist IsisMasshiro.

_Family_

Before anyone starts to make any assumptions, no, Jacque is by no means related in any way to Hellboy, rather that he served as a godfather/older brother to the young half-demon back in his previous life as Monshroud. Also, I wanted to press the point that family doesn't have to be made up of people who share the same blood.

_The Pig Talisman_

Originally, the pig talisman granted its user the power of, pause for dramatic effect… _heat vision_! Yeah, I'm not joking, that's what it originally did and considering that all the others at least made _some_ sense, it was rather sad they had to do that to the pig, so I revamped it. This version of the talisman allows one to "allow no such thing as lies, they see the truth of what lies within." Basically, it can see through disguises of all kinds, show hidden paths/treasures, and is the anti-thesis to the snake talisman's invisibility. The overpowered, or should I say, _demon_-powered talisman allows one to see all that but upon gazing in at a person's reflection, they can see the truth of that person's very soul.


	9. The Ninth Night: Friends

**Disclaimer:** I own what is my own.

* * *

_"Just so you know, we can't be friends."_

_"Why not?"_

_"It's just the way it is."_

* * *

**Thirteen Hallowed Nights**

**The Ninth Night:**

_"Friends"_

By Corvus no Genmu

The summer heat was fading towards autumn's biting winds but the night sky was still clear, the stars above shining brightly at least in these dark woods. The trees stood tall and close together and most still had a fine collection of emerald leaves whose edges were only just now turning to the color of flames, the branches swaying to rid themselves of dying cargo. It was late in the night, almost midnight, but still the children of the cabin were both awake and sat together in the same bed, finding comfort in each other despite the silence. They sat reclined, leaning against one another, their hands clasped tightly though they refused to look at the other. Though their fights were rare almost inconceivable really, they did have them and it was always about the same thing.

Whether or not he join her forever in the darkness of the night.

Contrary to what you might assume, it was not the girl that had this selfish desire. No, it was the boy who wanted the cursed life not for himself but for the girl that had claimed his heart however unwilling and who in turn gave her heart to him. She hadn't been given a choice, those two long centuries past, and now that she had been given the chance to make one of her own it frightened her terribly. To live forever as a child might sound like a whimsical fantasy but that was a lie for hers was not an immortal life without prices to pay. The sun had been forgotten decades ago, the blue sky but an illusion in her memories, and the thirst, the damnable thirst that forever hounded her, could never be denied.

The thirst for blood.

He claimed to know the pain of it, the risks and the horrors, and still he did not care. He wanted to stay with her forever so that she may have a true companion to stand beside rather than be left alone by the protectors before him. Still she denied him as she had denied them but her will, once strong and unbreakable, was slowly crumbling. The loneliness was greater now than it had been and none of the others had ever filled her silent heart with the joy of true, innocent love.

She was a monster, a creature of the dark to be hated and feared and she held little doubt that she'd meet a painful, agonizing end, by her hand or by another's, if she kept walking this lonely road where company came and went. She had drawn a line for herself long ago, a line that forbade her to ever make another like herself. Better for them to die than to force another to live a cursed life of immortality. Why couldn't he understand that? The boy wondered the same thing about her.

The door to their cabin banged heavily with great, forceful knockings and startled them both terribly.

In an instant, she was at the door with fangs bared, a gentle biting at her lower li. No one came to these woods and with good reason. These were the woods where stories dark and terrible, bright and joyful, were told. The Black Forest of Germany where brothers two walked side-by-side with pen and paper, taking the stories alive and capturing them forever. Tourists and natives alike did not dare to enter the deeper wood by the instinctive idea that maybe; just maybe, some of those stories still roamed free and were not so polite to be captured.

The fact that the wooden steps of the stoop did not creak gripped her heart in fear for few could walk so silently as the dark and not be a part of it. Oh yes, she had met her fair share of monsters and had run from their outstretched hands. She would kill to survive, but she would _never_ take pleasure from it like they, only the satisfaction of hunger satiated and nothing more.

"It is not getting any warmer out here I'll have you know," spoke a voice of strange accent, clearly not a German for he spoke like a Swede of practiced tongue.

The boy, foolish beloved brave thing, pressed himself against her, an axe at hand and a look of determination on his face. She regretted teaching him self-confidence only because that self-confidence was beginning to turn sour with the same foolhardy arrogance that ended the lives of similarly selfless men.

The door trembled from another knocking and this time the voice spoke in a strange almost nonsensical verse. "One for all and all for none, the future time has come. Face filled with torment, your heart beats like a drum."

She hesitated but dared to hope it was who she believed it to be. She shared a glance with the boy and in their silent ways spoke volumes. She wanted him to trust that she knew what she was doing. He assured her that she had that long before. She smiled and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before she opened the door.

He was old, almost sickly really, and she would never have recognized him had a sudden wind not blown his scent back upon her. A smell of cloudless midnight, where a full moon shined like a torch and told the stars told their stories as cruel and spiteful clouds flickered resentfully on the horizon. The crisp scent of autumn leaves and candies sweet and bitter to the tongue. His eyes were of fresh cut emeralds and his hair was pale like ivory just as it had been when he was young.

"Mortimer?"

The old man smiled tiredly and leaned heavily against his cane. "I go by Monshroud now but yes, it's me." He sighed and his eyes closed from exhaustion. "Might I come in?"

The girl looked to the boy but the words were already halfway spoken. "Please do sir."

Monshroud cracked open an eye and smirked, shooting a sly grin at a suddenly embarrassed girl. "He reads you better than you think he does." The old man shuffled into the cabin and took the chair closest to the fire. "I suppose you both have a lot of questions for me this evening. I know chivalry demands it, but by your leave let me answer the boy's—"

"Oskar." She interrupted, her eyes fierce, a hand clasping the boy's own.

Monshroud nodded amiably. "Oskar's questions." He stared expectantly at the boy who seemed strangely shy at the sudden attention. "Speak boy, I don't bite." His smile was teasing, "That's your vampire's job, yes?"

"Don't call her that!" Oskar snapped, fire now in his eyes as he stared defiantly at the old man who barked out a laugh, leaning back in his chair as it rocked back and forth like a ticking clock.

"Quick to defend the girl's honor aren't you," he spoke more to himself. "You don't treat the word like a whispered horror, with that foolish ideal that silence will make it less than true." His emerald eyes bore onto Oskar and the boy flinched at the strange familiarity in them. "You treat the word as an insult because with its utterance, she is reminded of her nature and you know she doesn't need that." He laughed again looking to the girl who was smiling adoringly at an embarrassed Oskar. "You've found yourself a true diamond in the rough this time…"

Eli smiled and kissed Oskar's cheek, enjoying its pleasant warmth more than she should have and her heart ached for it but she buried it with the pleasure of past and present company. "I know…"

Monshroud smiled and nodded. _Good, it makes what I've come here for easier._ His eyes met with Oskar's once more. "I've known Eli for a long time Oskar, since the night she was first turned. How and why are between the two of us but I assure you that I'm no immortal, not like Eli at any rate so spare me your anger and resentment. Had I stayed with her she would never have met you."

Oskar flushed again; the old man was turning out to be surprisingly good at reading people. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Now when I first left her, I made her a promise that when I returned, it would be for one of two reasons." Monshroud held up two fingers and brought one down. "The first was if I had found the vampire that had bitten her," He looked to Eli and smiled sadly, "and that when I did, I would kill him by starvation. A grisly end for anyone but alas, the vampire responsible is currently beyond my reach and for that I do apologize, Eli."

Eli's smile was a sad one but it was also understanding. "Don't be, you still have the second reason don't you?"

Monshroud nodded, rocking gently in the chair. "I do."

Oskar frowned, worriedly looking back and forth between them. His eyes widened in alarm. "You're not—"

"My second reason was that if I ever found a way to make her immortality bearable that I would bring it to her." He brought the last finger down and suddenly held out the same hand to Eli who smiled fondly in remembrance and tapped it. He opened his hand to reveal a jeweled ring. The band was gold with the stone was a dark emerald that seemed to glimmer with its own light. He held it out to Eli who took it and stared at it in confusion. Monshroud wasn't done though as he tapped a box that was suddenly at his feet and pushed to the children with his cane.

Oskar lifted the lid and blinked in surprise at the contents. "Lollypops?"

"Blood-pops actually." Monshroud smiled. "Amazing thing magic… you'd be surprised at some of the new conventions the magical world has come up with."

"The magical world?" gasped Oskar while Eli stared impassively into the box. "You mean, magic is _real?_"

Monshroud chuckled. "You've given your heart to a vampire and you question the reality of magic? Yes it is real as are a great many things." Noting Eli's hesitation he encouraged her. "The box has an enchantment on it that prevents it from ever running empty and a follow-me spell attached to it should you ever have to leave it behind. It will be waiting for you wherever you make your home."

Eli took out one of the blood-pops and gave it a slow look-over. "This will really work? I won't have to feed anymore?"

"Oh, you'll still need to have blood," said Monshroud, tapping the box with his cane. "I've spoken to a few of the open covens and they say these are a fine, if slightly demeaning, substitute. Not sure how they taste though… Go on, give it a try."

Eli unwrapped the packaging and took a small lick. Her eyes lit up and she all but jammed the thing in her mouth, much to Oskar's amusement. Monshroud sat back and nodded in satisfaction. "The ring will protect you from all harm and I've had a spell attached to it to keep anyone but those you trust from removing it. The blood-pops will sate your hunger though I'd wager you'll still want for the thrill of the chase if nothing else. I give you a shield, and I've given you food. Now, I will give you a heart."

"What do you—" Oskar started to ask when Monshroud suddenly jammed the end of his cane over the boy's heart. The boy let out a scream of pain as _something_ started to shine with startling intensity at the cane's end. A strange piece of stone cut into the shape of an octagon. The sound of a dog's howling echoed in the small wooden cabin, drowning out the boy's pained scream before Eli tossed Monshroud aside, clear across the room where he impacted against the wall of the cabin with a resounding crack of his spine.

"Oskar! Oskar, are you alright?" Eli took the unconscious boy's head to her lap, her eyes shining with fear. "Wake up, please, wake up!" She heard a faint tapping sound and she glanced down at his hand, his finger tapping out a simple message. L-O-V-E…

"I'm alright…" the boy whispered, his eyes still closed. "Just… tired is all… I'll be fine in the morning… promise…" He was asleep and Eli breathed a sigh of relief before she lifted the boy up and placed him gently on their shared bed. The pained wheezing behind her turned angry eyes of burning amber back upon Monshroud.

Monshroud who had been the only friend she had in the beginning of her life as a vampire. He had helped her when others would have seen her dead. He made an unbreakable vow with her and held his word for it. He gave her a ring of protection, of what kind she did not know and an endless supply of food, but he had hurt Oskar…

She had all but killed him for it.

"Next time you try to kill someone…" The old man gasped despite the agony he was feeling. "Try and break the neck first…"

"I am sorry… but you hurt him with… whatever it was you did."

"Don't be sorry… he was in pain and you defended him…" Monshroud's smile was weak but it shined brightly in his eyes. "It made what I did… all the better…"

Eli's eyes narrowed and a faint glimmer of fang appeared. "What did you do to Oskar?"

"I made him… into an immortal…"

"What?" gasped Eli.

"He will never age… and he will never die… unless he welcomes Death… into his home…" He shivered and his hand gripped tightly over his heart.

"Why didn't you tell me what you were going to do? What it would entail!" She was shouting now, tears streaming down her face as she stared down upon her first protector. "Why would you make me a murderer again?"

"Today… is the day Monshroud is supposed to die… and I… would rather die… having done one last… bit of good… than slipping away… alone…" His breathing was slowly and she could hear the slowing of his heart. "That… is my selfish… desire…"

"You… you foolish old man…"

"Heh… I suppose I am… but don't worry… I'm sure we… will see each other again… but… do a dying man… one last favor…?"

"Anything."

Monshroud smiled…

* * *

Oskar woke with a groan, the light of the morning sun shining brightly in his eyes. He turned his back to it and tried to regain some semblance of sleep when he realized—"The sun!" He shot awake, "Eli!" But the bed as empty, the blanket knocked away. He turned and cried out at seeing the front door opened.

He was alone.

"ELI!" He raced out the door and nearly tripped over a young female form. He was about to yell her name again when he saw a small glint of emerald and gold, and he remembered Monshroud's words. He whispered her name, "Eli?"

"Please… sit next to me, Oskar?" She didn't have to ask, he was already sitting down beside her, his hand clasping her own, the jewel shining between their fingers. She turned to look him in the eye, her own wet with tears flowing down her pale face like rivers. "Is this… a dream, Oskar?" She touched the burnt hole of his shirt where a scar in the shape of a dog's paw lay over his heart. "Is this really the dawn?"

Oskar smiled, her words always a puzzle with another meaning behind them. He had no clue what Monshroud had done to him but he knew that what he had done for Eli was more than enough. "Yeah… yeah it is…"

* * *

_Twenty years later…_

The backdoor opened and a young girl of nine years raced inside, "Daddy! Mommy! I'm home!"

Jacque glanced up from where he was busy preparing dinner as Morrigan watched in bemusement. She was never too good of a cook and her last concoction had to be put down most violently but perhaps that had been intentional on her part. Never mind that Jacque's food was almost, dare she say it, divine in its flavor but it was rather fun to see him preparing meals around the kitchen like he was some head chef in a fine Parisian restaurant. Still, that did not stop her from smiling beautifully at her adopted daughter racing up to her as excited as any nine-year-old should be.

It had taken the better part of the year but Samara had finally succumb to her own desire and referred to both Jacque and Morrigan as her parents rather than by their names. Morrigan thought it cute how Jacque teared up when Samara had called him daddy for the first time and venomously denied her own reaction when the tables were turned back upon her.

"Welcome home, Samara. Anything interesting happen at school today?" asked Jacque as he set about slicing some carrots.

"I met a vampire!"

The knife came down hard on the chopping board and a glass shattered in a manicured hand. Jacque turned a concerned eye to Samara while Morrigan was already beside the girl and looking her over, a dark aura of menace surrounding the woman. While Jacque cared about vampires as much as he did anyone, Morrigan had a healthy disfavor for them thanks to one particularly stubborn, if not powerful, vampire that refused to get his ideals out of the Dark Ages. Still, the sky was dark with heavy storm clouds and only a truly hungry vampire would be roaming the streets before nightfall…

"Mommy, I'm okay really! Eli was really nice and Oskar…" She continued on telling a fabulous recounting of her new friends and how they had inadvertently discovered each other's uniqueness, that which kept them young and separate from the world. Jacque didn't hear, his emerald eyes were glazed over, seeing beyond the present and into the mists of the past.

He smiled.

* * *

_Some friendships are so strong, they can even transcend lifetimes._

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

_Let the Right One In/Let Me In_

Granted, it's been a long time since I've last read the book itself but having recently seen the American version of the story, well I was inspired to make a little mini-tribute to it. There have been numerous vampire love stories as of late thanks to bloody _Twilight_ and most of the time, the vampires are always either too human or too monstrous, there's never a good balance between a person cursed with immortality and an animal that just needs to feed its dark hunger. _Let Me In_ was a nice take on the vampire mythos that kept well to that balance never mind that it's one of the rare stories where the pairing is reversed with the girl being the vampire and the boy being human. I also picked Eli and Oskar because frankly, Samara needed some friends her own age and I didn't feel up to introducing the _Addams Family_ into this story.

_Eli & Monshroud_

While the characters are named after the ones in the book, and the stories location as well, the overall story prior to this are based more off _Let Me In_. Why? Because that was fresher in my mind compared to the book. Anyway, to those that are curious, yes Jacque did meet Eli in one of his older lives, she was in fact the reason he left Betelgeuse and Betelgeuse's mother actually. And no, he did not serve the girl as a protector, rather he served as a teacher for he is well acquainted with creatures of the midnight hours… As for who actually turned Eli into a vampire in the first place… well, there was a reason Morrigan had a mini-cameo in this chapter…

_Friends_

Yes, I did borrow much from Harry Potter here but in a way, why shouldn't I have? Obvious this story is a _huge_ multi-cross and some things/events/people are going to cross over and meet. To save people from asking the obvious question, _no_ Eli is not in touch with the vampires of the Wizarding World mostly because she _hates_ vampires and the only reason she'd associate with one is if they came to here and even then she stays only so long as to say "Go away!"

_The Dog Talisman_

The dog talisman grants immortality and the energy of youth. That is to say, that if an old person were to use it, not only would they be immortal, they'd be as spry as they were in their prime. By infusing its abilities into Oskar, Monshroud made him an immortal child much like Eli… minus the need to feed on blood and the like.


	10. The Tenth Night: Fortune

**Disclaimer:** I own what is my own.

* * *

_"It was not worth feeling what small, fleeting joy life brings."_

* * *

**Thirteen Hallowed Nights**

**The Tenth Night:**

_"Fortune"_

By Corvus no Genmu

The Pantano River of Isla de Pelegostos was a generally dark and dreary river even with the sun at its zenith. The cypress forest spread itself like a dark blanket along the river, turning it into a misty bayou that hid well its secrets from the eyes of the mundane and ordinary. The river was wide enough for only the smallest of boats and even then those boasts best move by oar for to disturb the murky ambiance of the bayou would certainly draw the many unwanted eyes upon you. Of course, even by oar there was no telling of the dangers that lay in the dark waters of the river for many a vicious reptile had made these banks their home. They were vicious carnivores that made fools of men by their pretending and struck with fangs and snapping jaws.

They were also quite easy to bribe.

A barrel of chicken, freshly plucked and beheaded and the alligators were salivating. Adding in a dose of eleven unique herbs and spices and they were putty in his hands. Now to be fair, bribery of any kind would never really work against the common alligator but these fanged beasties were far from common. They had near-human intelligence in their eyes and magic flickered across their hard scales. A special kind of guard dog for a special kind of person, the very person Jacque was trying to meet with growing success. I'm sure many have seen a boat, especially a small one, pulled along by some kind of marine mammal. A seal or perhaps even a dolphin or whale, but have you ever seen a canoe pulled along by a team of alligators?

It makes for quite the interesting sight I assure you.

It didn't take long to reach the shack that rested high in the branches of an exceptionally large, and also exceptionally dead, cypress tree. Jacque spared it a quick look-over, noting that one particular side looked to be made of fresher materials than the rest before impatient hissing and snapping drew his attention back to the gathered alligators. With a smile, he pushed the barrel overboard and clambered quickly up the ladder lest he end up a part of the feeding frenzy himself.

Making a show of brushing up his appearance, Jacque raised a hand to knock—

"Go away!"

— and grimaced in surprise at how the voice therein, the accented voice of a woman there was no doubt, sounded so hoarse as though it wasn't used to speaking for quite some time.

Coughing into his hand, he called into the shack. "Aren't you the least bit curious to see your latest visitor?"

"Visitor? Bah!" The sound of items being moved about as the shack's occupant searched for something particular vexing in its potency. "Stay a little longer and see how well a visitor be treated here!"

_Well she's obviously still grumpy… _Jacque sighed. "I'm here to propose a bargain with you!"

The noises stopped so suddenly, the young man was half-worried she had dropped dead inside when she suddenly spoke up, "A bargain say you?" A derisive laugh. "A new trinket dat I could be usin' out in these waters? Keep your science to yourself, dank you!"

Jacque rolled his eyes at that. _What is it about the modern day's wonders that make them act more like children than before?_ "I think you'll find that what I have to offer is just what you need…" _Hmm, suppose her mortal name is as good a choice as any._ "Petit Baleine."

The laughter died swiftly, though not as fast as the door of the shack as it was pulled back almost off its hinges by a young woman of cocoa skin and ebony dreadlocks, dark lips full and pouty, and a small amount of paint across her cheeks and chin. Her dress was ancient in make but new by her design and bedecked with many a strange talisman of various sort from a chicken's foot to an alligator's claw and she wore a large necklace of rosaries upon her neck with a pendant designed as much like a heart as it was like a crab. She was as of a primordial beauty given mortal flesh and there was little doubt that she could be playful as well as vexing.

Her eyes such a deep brown as to almost be black were narrowed as she gazed upon Jacque seeing well beyond what mundane eyes could see but even then she only saw what she saw in the reflections of a mirror. He did not call her by the name of her choice nor the name of her birth but by a particular person closer to her than any of her brethren had been, who had been gone at her trial of judgment. If this was him, she'd either strike dead where he stood… or…

"Who are ye?"

Jacque's smile was sad but he understood her confusion. Had he not known who she truly was he'd have been just as cautious to be called out by a perceptive stranger. "As I recall, your uncle is still sore over that little mishap involving the Atlanteans."

Her eyes widened and dare he imagine an embarrassed flush cross her face? Nay, for now she was smiling with a teasing flair. "Well, I must say dis be most unexpected…" She turned her back on him and started back into her shack but paused, noting that he wasn't following her. "Coming?"

Jacque gritted his teeth, he hated revealing his weaknesses to anyone but she was different. She'd understand. Oh she'd tease him mercilessly over it but she'd understand all the same. "I can't. Not unless you invite me in."

That teasing smirk turned into a full grin but she spared him for the moment and invited him into her shack. She took a seat at the table that she used to perform her scrying and brushed away a large tarantula before gesturing at the opposite chair. "I suppose ye need no invite to sit do ye?"

Jacque winced but didn't rise to the bait, setting his large backpack down beside him as he sat down before the voodoo practitioner. He had to admit, when she learned human magic, particularly the magic of those not born with its blessing in their blood; she really could be a studious little thing. "Doing well with yourself I see."

She made a show of looking bored but he could still see the pain in her eyes. "Tis an unfair punishment but not one I be unused to. Could be worse by far, yes?" She looked him over. "Mortal are ye?"

"Aren't you?" He asked curious.

"I suppose," she shrugged, "but I 'ave not aged since dis body reach it twenty-first year."

"You're lucky then." Too late did he realize his error as dark brown turned amber, dreadlocks trembling as she shot to her bare feet to glare at him with all the fury she was infamous for.

"Luck? Luck not be havin' me proper self full and returned! Luck be a liar and a cheater!"

"Luck gave you a semblance of mortality. You may be killed yes, but you do not succumb to old age or illness. I have since died a total of thirty lifetimes past, some still in my prime, others well past the zenith. You think it's hell for you, an embodiment of the sea, to be trapped in a permanent body? What then do you think it's like for me!" He was yelling now and on his own two feet as he met her glare-for-glare. "Do you have _any_ idea what it's been like for someone such as I to have to experience _death?_ The lifetimes I've lived, the women that I could not follow, the children that I unknowingly left behind?"

The two stood glaring at one other before sighing, their stiff shoulders relaxing as they sat back down, she covering her eyes feeling exhausted with the whole affair while he massaged his forehead, a familiar aching pain that had been growing worse this past week. A flash of red cloth, empty eyes of a shattered soul, iron shackles and silver fangs. The vision was gone and he repressed another fierce shot of pain. He was running out of time… but for the woman across from him, he'd make time.

"I'm sorry…" He sighed before laughing hollowly at the cruelty of it all. "We always did make a good pair back then… only fitting we be so similar now…"

"Hmm…"

Jacque reached over and pulled her hand down from her face, meeting chocolate with emerald. "Had I known what I know now, I would never have taught you those spells, but just as well you should have known better. You took not one but _two_ men back body and soul from the Hereafter… You knew that the others would be furious with you over it."

"Aye, I knew… but I had chance to be myself… should I not take it… It was chance but one I not dare miss…"

"Hmm…"

"And ye? What mess be bad to have dat done to ye?"

"… I'll tell you when you're older."

She huffed at that, cheeks blowing out like a puffer-fish but she didn't dispute the fact that, despite appearances, he was the elder and she the child, especially in comparison to the other Incarnations of the Seas. She remembered then his original purpose for being here. "Ye said you were wanting a bargain wit me?"

"Ah, I'd forgotten." He reached down and pulled the backpack up onto his lap. "Let's get straight to the business then shall we?" He opened the bag and pulled out first a shiny cloak of glimmering silver tightly folded into a square and set it upon the table. She raised an eyebrow at it, recognizing it as a wizard's pale attempt as a cloak of invisibility, a well made one by its appearance to be so similar… but Jacque wasn't done. The gold of the ring had her attention first but it was the stone that froze the beat of her heart. A small circular stone that absorbed the candlelight like a void and yet shined like a cloudless night.

_It cannot be…_

But it was, and Jacque still had one item left.

By appearance it was a wizard's wand of fifteen centimeters length made of the finest elder wood but inside it held the hairs of a thestral, a winged beast favored by the Incarnations of Death. This was a wand that was unrivaled by any of its ilk though the traitorous knife remained to stab the heart of its unwanted holder. Its power pulsed like a heart reborn and she could see that its bloodied past had been wiped anew, its power restored to its true glory.

"The Cloak of Invisibility, the Stone of Resurrection, and the Wand of Elder. The Deathly Hallows lost to a trio of brothers that dared to best Death himself. He won the lives of the brothers eventually but the Hallows remained lost to time… until now."

She held an almost reverent hand over the three items. Oh yes, she had many a mystical item in her shack but all had been enchanted by human means, even her own little trinkets save for the locket she still wore despite the pain in her heart from its presence. Yes, she had many magical artifacts all unique and powerful in their own right but these… These were made by Death's hands!

"Equivalent exchange. Three centuries for three Deathly Hallows. I'm sure you'll have the remaining decade left to finish but still, better ten years than three centuries more…"

"What… could I possibly have dat could equal…?" She whispered.

"As I said, equivalent exchange. In return for the Hallows, I want three undeniable requests. No questions asked, no secrets, and no lies."

"Name them."

_Ah but will you agree to them so easily when you hear them?_ "First. Forswear the magics I taught you."

She hesitated but it was only long as the batting of an eye. "I forswear de death arts learned by de one who taught me." A black pulse of light, the sound of chains tightening as a massive iron lock clacked into place.

_She didn't say my name… but then I haven't said hers either… She knows they'll see us if we speak each other's name and she doesn't want her chance at early release lost for propriety's sake…_ Jacque nodded his acceptance and handed her the Wand of Elder. She took it reverently, like a mother would her newborn child. "Second. I want you to take me to Isla de Muerta."

She frowned and with good reason. "Dat island be lost to the ocean depths."

"I know. I'm sure you'll have something to say about that when you return but it doesn't matter. I need the Chest of Cortes and I can't take it without being shown where the island is whether it be sunk or not."

Her frown deepened and her gaze was sharp as she tried to find her answer through less obvious means than by spoken word, still it didn't hurt to try. "Aware are you not of de curse of dat chest?"

Jacque supposed he could allow that one question; it was a reasonable one. "I am just as old as they and know of greater curses than that which they placed upon the chest. Humans have proven their ferocity well to me and though their rage was great, it has diminished.

"Their people are no more and their power limited. The curse remains but is easy to break. Besides, I've other means of transporting it than by actually touching the chest." A hand unconsciously went to his pocket, fingering the object that rested there out of her sight though she heard well the cry of a cockerel on the horizon. Her smile was wide and revealed all of her unwashed teeth.

"Accepted." Jacque handed her the Stone of Resurrection without question though she did not accept it without one of her own. "And de dird?"

"Third…" He leaned forward and whispered softly into her ear. She shivered, her eyes closed though her face was empty of emotion for the longest time. He sat back and waited for a long moment as she sat there in silence before taking a shuddering breath of air, a teardrop falling from her eye and into a small vial that rested below her face, held by Jacque's unwavering hand. More tears followed until the vial was full and he sealed it shut with a rubber stopper, hiding it away in the folds of his coat.

She took another breath and met his eyes clearly without any sign of emotional distress. "Done."

He pushed the Cloak of Invisibility to her and she accepted it gladly. She gathered the three Hallows up and with great care hid them… somewhere… Jacque wasn't quite sure what she did only that she had them in hand one moment and with a blink of his eyes, they were gone and she was standing beside him dressed for travel with a cloak of her own that resembled more a fishermen's discarded net than anything else.

"Coming?" She asked.

Jacque grunted and pushed himself to his feet. "Still the pretentious little child, Petit Baleine?"

"No more dan you be bein' a stuffy old man, Sciocco Anziano."

* * *

_If we command our wealth, we shall be rich and free; if our wealth commands us, we are poor indeed._

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

_Pirates of the Caribbean_

I'll get right to the point. Pirates of the Caribbean? Favorite Disney film series, _ever_. That and you've to admit there's a good touch of horror in all of the films thus far and likely more to come with _On Stranger Tides_ this summer. Besides, this was a good opportunity to raise some questions pertaining to Calypso I felt the movies should have answered some.

_Calypso/Tia Dalma_

Calypso is the Incarnation of the Seas, in particular the seas of _pirates_, which makes her quite young as far as the other Incarnations go though she was "born" only a few centuries after Jacque. Considering that she's essentially a god, I always thought it odd that no other god tried to help her from her imprisonment as a human but then I figured, why not make it that, in her younger days, she did something accidental but no less terrible in the eyes of her elders? So yeah, there went Atlantis… As for why she's back as Tia Dalma, well I thought it especially odd that Tia Dalma could bring back the dead, aka Captain Barbossa considering she's not only a human (in body) but a Incarnation of the Seas (in spirit… thing…) Thus, she learned the necessary spells from Jacque and was subsequentially punished for it by the others of that same sect.

Oh and if anyone's curious, Jacque calls her "Petit Baleine" which means "Little Whale" considering that in her actual size, Calypso is a giantess and she likes French, at least enough to howl it out before she created the monsoon at the end of _At World's End_, and Tia Dalma calls Jacque "Sciocco Anziano" which is Italian for "Old Fool".

_Fortune_

Obviously, Jacque wants the cursed Chest of Cortes but seeing as the island, though sunk, can't be found unless someone has been there before… well what other choice did he have but to strike a bargain with Calypso?

_The Rooster Talisman_

The rooster talisman allows the power of levitation, rather ironic considering chickens can't fly worth a shit… as for how Jacque used up this particular talisman, well obviously he couldn't touch the chest or its contents without getting cursed no could he? But nobody ever said he needed to touch the chest to move it now did they?


	11. The Eleventh Night: Fractures

**Disclaimer:** I own what is my own.

* * *

_"... Leave... me... ALONE!"_

_"I know as well as you do. The difference is, I actually have a conscience."_

* * *

**Thirteen Hallowed Nights**

**The Eleventh Night:**

_"Fractures"_

By Corvus no Genmu

It has been a general idea of the wizarding world that theirs is the true realm of magic and that they and the creatures they are "forced" to share it with are all that there is to it. Dragons are nothing but dumb beasts of flames and are at best limited to a species per country if even then, that fairies are no more than common gardening pests, mermaids are made of hideous scale and fishy faces with voices like a banshee's above their waters. That there is no such as elves or any other fairy tale nonsense.

They'd be wrong.

In the preset of the dividing years between that which would be known as the wizarding and mundane worlds, there came to be a third faction, a faction that realized the bigotry of the wizards and the cruelty of the mundane. The mundane would see them all dead regardless of whether they did harm or good and the wizards' sin of arrogance would only grow in the centuries to come. The wizards had all but forsaken the old magic and stayed firm in their ways. In another century there would be no magic but their own. They had no choice but to leave.

And so they did.

It was not a perfect world as one would hope, but it was world where the fear of death came from justifiable causes not the sins of pride and envy, of arrogance and fear. Though it took many years and countless battles, an almost ceaseless war ended and the world of refuge at long last gained a just and fair ruler and with her rise as Queen, so too did the world earn itself a name.

Grimmoire, the land of fairytales.

And like all fairytales, it had its share of happily-ever-after's… but in recent years those good-time endings have become a rarity for while 'normalcy' was an ill-defined concept in Grimmoire, the frequently increasing disturbances of its citizens could not be ignored or tolerated. From rampaging giants to hungry hags, terrifying trolls and wicked stepmothers and fathers. Thus an island in the far west became the ideal location for a place geared, nay dedicated to the betterment of Grimmoire.

The Everafter Maximum Security Asylum and Home for the Fantastically Traumatized.

As its name implies, its purpose is to keep the endings happily-ever-after and its inhabitants forever bright-eyed and/or bushy-tailed simply by removing the more unflattering residents of Grimmoire and placing them into rehabilitation… Oh, it was by no means a prison for those caught and found guilty of their crimes; they were punished severely and swiftly. No, this was, for lack of a better term, a hospital for the _survivors _of the crimes. Most would think that the asylum would be the perfect place for them and they'd be right. The victims of the mediocre horrors, the trolls and the hags and the wicked parents, spent little time in Everafter before they were released with little to do.

The rest… were not so lucky.

There has been a long-standing belief in the Balance, which for every spark of light there is a shadow of darkness. When the Retreat had been made, those ancient pilgrims kept true to the balance for there was no creature, light or dark, that didn't make that dreadful journey to Grimmoire but none ever stopped to think that maybe, just maybe, Grimmoire had its own Balance as well… and that the scales were already tipping dangerously to one side's favor.

Madness ruled the twisted fabrics of its mind, evil pumped its vile veins and painted its blood black, and shadows made up its ghastly form so much like a wraith but with all the savagery that earned its name.

The Big Bad Wolf.

Oh, you may scoff at the name; mayhap a jeering sneer at such a thing for a wolf, in your eyes, is just that. A carnivorous creature that can be noble as any lord ought to be or as savagely cruel as any villain may try to be. But a wolf is a mortal creature of blood and flesh, an animal that lives and dies just as any other. It hunts for food and lives for the thrill of the moonlit night with its pack.

The Big Bad Wolf… is a nightmare given flesh, a creature of primordial darkness that in its early hunts, claimed victims of wicked thought and design. In those forgotten days, it was seen as the boogeyman to villainy throughout Grimmoire and for a time it was idolized as a hero.

Then everything went to Hell in a hand basket.

Soon after Everafter's creation, the Big Bad Wolf lived up to its name and unleashed an unholy reign of terror wherever it roamed. There was no good in its empty eyes, only the wicked mothers, the cruel fathers, and the naughty children. Each and every one of them were evil in the eyes of the Big Bad Wolf and each and every one of them had to die. Whole towns destroyed, entire families gobbled up, it was highly improbable to find anyone alive in the aftermath.

Improbable… but not impossible…

* * *

"I trust that this will be a suitable… donation…?" Jacque stood in the office of the C.E.O. and Head Chairman of Everafter a Mr. H.C. Dumpty who resembled his ancestor's shape if not his form. The man was as round as an egg but clearly made of dreadfully pale flesh and a suit that made him look every bit the greasy little toady that he was. Oh yes, he truly did care for his patients but that care was pale as his skin compared to the care of his pocket book.

One of the first initial discoveries made in Grimmoire was that certain things that were some things that made the uncommon rare and the rare into uncommon. Precious stones like emeralds and rubies were in healthy abundance to the degree that it wasn't uncommon to find a fashionable pair of shoes to a nice pair of spectacles made of the stuff. Precious metals on the other hand… whatever silver there was to be found was commandeered to the knights of her majesty the Queen for defense against the darker monsters of the knight, and gold…?

The better question to ask, _what_ gold?

So to have a man come to him with what had to be the most outrageous, if not completely insane, request he had ever heard and was about to promptly call for security to deal with what had to be Everafter's newest patient when the man took a simple step to the side to reveal his "donation". The jewels encrusting the chest had his eyes wide as saucers, its golden exterior had him drooling, but the sight of the chest _opening_, on its own for dramatic effect of course, to reveal that it was filled from top to bottom with _solid gold coins_…

Well he plum forgot to breathe until Jacque had spoken. He might well be a madman but he was a _rich_ madman and that was enough for Mr. Dumpty. Still, he had to ask. "Might I inquiry for the number of coins, Sir Jacque. For the books of course."

Jacque's smile was a knowing one. "Of course." He made a show of the chest, presenting it like on would at an auctioneer's house and maintaining the proper decorum, being quite careful as to not actually touch the chest or the gold therein. "This chest has a sum total of eight-hundred-and-eighty-two pieces of gold. From the details of the designs on the pieces as well as those on the chest, I'd wager this was taken from Earth, possibly a culture ancient when the Retreat was but a mere idea."

882 coins… all _solid_ gold… and from the Old World itself! Now one might think Mr. Dumpty was perhaps a bit _too_ keen toward the chest and its contents, that he was perhaps thinking too much with avarice at his side and in a way, you would be right but you'd be wrong just the same. Mr. Dumpty did not get where he was by being a fool. His office was filled with enough security and safety measures that there could be no possible way for the chest in front of him to be anything but what it was.

A heaping pile of gold!

"Is this generous enough for you, Chairman?" asked Jacque, smiling at the egg-shaped man as he openly drooled at the number of gold coins.

Somehow managing to maintain a semblance of dignity despite the drool trailing down from his wide, toothy smile. "More than generous, Sir Jacque! Why, I'm sure this will last Everafter for another five years at the least!"

_And your pocket book for twice that…_ Jacque nodded. "Very well then. May I make my own way or will I require a… _escort_?" It was obvious by the way he spoke that Jacque would be quite displeased with the idea.

Mr. Dumpty flinched and chose his words carefully for he didn't want his new best friend to suddenly change his mind. "I'm afraid that the patient you wish to see has had a recent… relapse… and has been placed into solitary confinement, and the good Doctor Crooked—"

"Ah, yes the doctor…" Jacque interrupted. _Time to play my own cards in this little game._ "I've heard he's done marvelously well here. I'm sure he's an excellent choice for your replacement, Chairman Dumpty."

A thick silence and a stiff. "Replacement? I'm not sure as to what you are referring."

"Oh I apologize; it's only that I've heard many a rumor regarding the man and his excellent care to the patients and staff here at Everafter. Why, it's almost as though the man runs it entirely by himself rather than relying on your better judgment."

Mr. Dumpty stiffened and his hands clenched so tightly they cracked like old graveyard bones. "Take the elevator down the far side of the hall down to Level C-7." His chair swiveled around, a clear sign of dismissal but Mr. Dumpty wasn't finished. "She will be the only patient down there."

"Thank you Chairman Dumpty." Jacque bowed slightly and turned to take his leave.

"Sir Jacque."

He paused, one hand on the doorknob of the office door. "Yes?"

"You are aware of how potentially… hazardous… that girl can be…" It wasn't a question so Jacque waited for the man to make his point. "I can't help but wonder… just what do you get out of this… arrangement?"

Jacque wondered how to respond and realized that sometimes, the best lie was made up partially out of truth. "Why, I thought it was obvious, Chairman Dumpty…" Jacque turned to reveal a cold smile, his emerald eyes dark and empty.

"Retribution."

* * *

It never changes…

_"Haaaaaaaaaa…" Haaaaa… Haaaa…_

_"Don't you remember me little girl?" Remember me?_

It is always there… waiting and watching… in the dark and in the light…

_"Won't you come back?" Come back inside…?_

_"You mustn't forget." Mustn't forget us…_

To take what's left of her away… until there's nothing left…

_"We are here…" We are here… inside…_

_"Forever…" And ever…_

Until the monster is all that remains…

_"Haaaaaa…" Haaaaa…_

**_"Enough."_**

_"Who dares?" Dares to interfere…?_

**_"She is not yours to play with any more."_**

This… was different… Steel herself for different was not always good. Many voices spoke to her in the depths of her shattered mind and though she did her best not to listen… she heard them… but this time was different though she did not know it

_"Haaa… you think you can stop us, boy?" Little boy… Little man…_

**_"I'm more than what I appear to be."_**

_"So you are! What a delightful surprise to find you here!" Here inside… Here with us…_

**_"Do you think you can lie to me?"_**

Who was this… that could to that _Thing_ inside of her like it was something to be lectured to? Did this person not realize just _what_ he was talking to? Or was it… that he was talking to her? No, impossible. She had no voice left to speak, no words to form a sentence.

_"Lies are in abundance here, Old Boy…" They are everywhere… "Everybody lies." Everyone…_

**_"You're afraid of me, of what I am, of what I can do to you and yours."_**

_"Afraid? Of an old boy like you? You hold no power over us." No power here… "You are naught but a heathen—"_

**_"SILENCE!"_**

_"AAAAIEEEEEEE!"_

Silence…

No voices making their demands… No cries in the dark… No screams of anguish… Just silence…

This feeling, this sudden strange warmth that was sparking deep in her chest… Is this hope? It feels so warm… Snatch it, protect it, cherish it! For hope was but a small spark in this dark abyss of shattered dreams and fractured memories. It would be lost and she'd be alone all over again.

**_"No. You're not alone. I'm right here, in front of you. Can't you see me?"_**

She did see him. A young man at the end of his teenage years and yet his hair was white like fine ivory but his eyes were much more ancient, like old emeralds that had born the ages for far too long but there was a power to them, a strength that dare not give up lest all be lost. She nodded.

**_"Can you see yourself?"_**

Could she? She didn't know, there were no mirrors here but where was here?

**_"Here is within yourself. This is your mind and so this is your world. All you have to do is want for it and it will be here."_**

Her mind…? No, her mind was gone, her memories shattered like glass and her heart ground into dust. There weren't enough horses and men in the entire world to put her together again.

**_"Who needs horses and men, when you have a friend?"_**

He held his hand out to her, waiting. A… friend… she remembered the word but not its meaning… what was it? Was it like… family…? Yes, it rather was like that but it wasn't. Family stayed with you but friends could leave you behind…

**_"I can be family if you want me to be."_** A stir of dust, a heart trying to be reborn from the ashes. It was a lie, it had to be. It _had _to! She had no family, they were gone! Gobbled up! She was alone, all alone…

**_"Stop it. I'm right here in front of you. Just reach out to me, take my hand."_**

Could she do that? Would she? No, there was no way she could do that she was… What? Was she weak? No, she was strong, strong enough to break free from his cell several times now, cutting down everything that stood between her and that damnable _Beast!_ Was she afraid? Yes… yes she was terribly afraid… but that didn't mean she didn't have the courage to try!

Her hand grasped his.

It happened like a river suddenly free from a damn, flowing like a mighty torrent until there was no dark abyss but fields of green grasses and towering trees, a river brook tinkling merrily as it splashed by. The wind blew gently, a teasing caress through her brunette locks and there in the pale hands of the Old Boy was the small hand of a girl now into her own teen years.

Pale brown eyes stared down at her hand and she squeezed it tentatively. The other hand squeezed back and drew her eyes to a gently smiling face framed by ivory locks. "Hello there… my name is Jacque, what's yours?"

"… Red…" She gripped his hand tightly. "Is this… real?"

Jacque's smile was sad as he answered. "This world is yours, Red. This is your mind whole and healed so in a way it is very much real."

"No…" She shook her head. She held his hand like a vice; staring down at it as though it would slip away from her should she take her eyes away for even a moment. "Is _this_ real?"

"Yes, Red. This is real." He grasped her hand with both his own. "I'm real."

She didn't dare to believe. "Prove it."

His smile turned mischievous. "If you insist."

A sharp pinch of her cheek.

* * *

"Ouch!" She slapped the hand away from her face, turning a murderous glare to—Jacque? She blinked and stared open-mouthed at the man before realizing that she wasn't in her room at the Everafter Asylum. She looked around and saw that she was in a modestly decorated room with two beds at opposite corners, hers being next to the window where a tree stood tall and proud with a nest of birds in plain sight through the glass. She looked around the room in stunned silence before her eyes fell back to Jacque.

"Where…?"

"My home. Yours and Samara's room to be specific." Jacque frowned in concern. "If you'd rather a room to yourself I can give you mine. I'm sure Samara will be disappointed that she can't share a room with her 'big sister' but I don't want to push too much on you too quickly…"

"Sister…?" She swallowed painfully when a glass of water was suddenly held out to her. She took it graciously and nearly downed it all in one go. "You have a family?"

"Correction; _we_ have a family." Jacque hesitated. "That is… if you want us?"

"… My family…?" She looked up at Jacque. "Who are you?"

Jacque sighed and patted her gently on the head. "You can't imagine how often I've been asked that particular question… My name though, is Jacque and I'm whatever you want me to be. The choice is entirely up to you."

She blushed under the forgotten contact of reassurance, and that strange sense of familiarity in this Old Boy who called himself Jacque. She looked up and met his green eyes and it suddenly clicked in her mind, just _why_ those eyes seemed so familiar…

They were her grandmother's eyes…

* * *

_Sometimes you have to be willing to give up everything you've ever known to get everything you've ever wanted._

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

_Everafter_

One of my favorite webcomics which has been long suffering in the miasma that is hiatus and writer's block, the characters and works of Endling are something to be commended especially for his originality in concern to none original characters. I especially liked his designs on Red and when I was perusing through my collections, trying to think up of an adequate "older sibling" for Samara, I happened upon my copy of the Brothers Grimm and immediately thought of Endling's Red. The rest is, as they say, history.

_Red and the Big Bad Wolf_

Now mind you everything here is _speculation_. Until more is written/drawn by Endling himself, there's not much to go with but the speculations of a _fan_, not the source.

The Big Bad Wolf is made up of some kind of energy source that the wicked Dr. Crooked calls the grimm which in itself I'm wagering allows the more dangerous inmates their fantastically powerful abilities. In the example of Red, she's faster, stronger, and far more versatile than any girl her age should be, and she can create/summon her saw at will and enhance it further to be capable of cutting through two feet of solid iron with a single swing. In the webcomic, she is shown to cut down a group of fifty armed men and women in a matter of _seconds_ and only being stopped by a surprise blow to the back of her head. Whatever the Big Bad did to her, it obvious marked her as a "favorite" of his "leftovers" with the twins and a few others only being somewhat close to Red in sheer power.

_Fractures_

While she is indeed the strongest of Everafter's patients, Red is also the most damaged of them all with the Big Bad Wolf occupying her nightmares and Dr. Crooked's cruel whisperings filling her head with nonsense and lies in order to make her even stronger and, likely mind you, a possible replacement to the Big Bad Wolf which was under Everafter's control at some point.

_The Sheep Talisman_

The sheep talisman is quoted to be the most useless talisman of them all being that it allows one to project their mind into another or, if that person is asleep, their dreams. Overcharged, the sheep talisman allowed Jacque to heal Red's mind and cast out the _mind_ of the Big Bad Wolf while still allowing her access to the grimm within her.


	12. The Twelfth Night: Fate

**Disclaimer:** I own what is my own.

* * *

_"__A legendary black dragon said to have prowled these lands from the days of old. Many skilled hunters have sought to challenge it, but none ever return.__"_

* * *

**Thirteen Hallowed Nights**

**The Twelfth Night:**

_"Fate"_

By Corvus no Genmu

Castle Schrade, an impregnable fortress built far into the forgotten-lands of Germany. A relic of a time before where monsters of all kinds roamed and stalked the countryside. Massive beasts that made it a point to be an overall nuisance to anyone who lived on or near their territories, the castle was constructed as a stronghold against the strongest of beasts, they who ruled the land and sky with the fires of hell belching from their jaws.

_Dragons_.

The fortress did its job well, serving its purpose well into the centuries after the Great Disappearance, a single event in time lost to the mundane world and nothing but myth in the world of fanciful wand wavers. Monsters still roamed but those that remained proved to be easy prey, nothing but dumb beasts that a single jab to the heart here, or the impalement of the jaw line there, and BAM! They're dead on the ground with their remains useless for armor or weaponry; even the dragons that remained behind were naught but overgrown lizards with a bad case of heartburn.

The Hunters, their true names and titles lost in history, had grown bored with their hunts and so became sloppy and just as arrogant as the wizards. They never thought that one of the greater races had remained behind, that something far more powerful than a mountain troll or wyvern still roamed these lands until it was too late.

Centuries later, Castle Schrade remained lost to history…

Until today…

* * *

The Hunter stood in the massive grounds of the castle's center, an area that served as both training ground and for trapping the bigger flyers that came barreling down from the skies. The Hunter was almost bare of the usual standard of armor, at least as one would expect. He wore no steel, no iron, just hardy leather weathered with age and old scars hastily re-stitched. This could of course be forgiven as simple misunderstanding of just _what_ he was about to be dealing with but considering the fact that he bore no weapon on his person.

Well, that was more than just a little foolhardy wasn't it?

He looked around the old courtyard, noting the massive claw marks, both old and fresh, that littered the floors and walls and how one particular tower was heavily ravaged by a localized inferno. Bits and pieces of armor was scattered about, the skeletal remains still inside bleached by the sun and time. The sun was at its zenith and yet the sky was black as moonless night, the horizon colored in violent hues of red and violet, a blazing inferno that covered the sky in smoke. There was little doubt now.

It was still here.

It was still alive.

"I know you are here!" The Hunter called, his voice echoing in the massive courtyard, through old halls and ancient towers. "Will you face me truly or will you slither about like a frightened snake!" He was goading it, taunting it into action but it was older, wiser. The Hunter was too obvious with himself and too under-protected. There was something more to this… Still, it would not sit idly by and let this foolish little thing taunt it in its lair any longer.

A roar shook the skies as massive ebony wings lifted a reptilian body high above the castle turrets, a slow glide over as a serpent's tail whipped past, breaking loose an old weapon from its perch to the grounds below. The beast was in all appearances sake, a rather ordinary looking dragon with blackened scales and shadowed wings with four great horns curving back along its skull but by its size and the overwhelming power of simply being in its presence, it was obviously something more than mere.

It was a Fatalis.

Amber eyes narrowed and the massive beast landed on all fours before rising up onto its hind legs, wings half spread and tail lashing angrily about. Smoke trailed upwards in lazy wafts from its fang-lined jaws as its nostrils flared. It glared down at its prey with cruel intelligence in its slitted eyes. This was not some dumb beast of mortal flames and hardy scales. No, this was a dragon of the ancient times and would be treated with the respect it was due.

"You should have gone with them." The Hunter whispered, his voice thick and his head bowed low. "It wouldn't have to be like this… but you had to stay didn't you…? You damned, stubborn, son of a bitch."

Lightning roared and a belch of dragon fire flew through the air and impacted against the ground. The flames rushed forward in a massive inferno that overwhelmed the Hunter. At least, it _should_ have.

Another burst of dragon fire started to rise up and push back against the breath of the Fatalis until the two streams cancelled each other out in a massive explosion that sent the black elder dragon stumbling back, flapping its massive wings to blow back the smoke. It hissed and angrily fell to its forefeet and seeing the Hunter alive and unharmed, with one gloved hand outstretched, its head snapped forward, jaws ready to bite and drag the Hunter to his doom but the Hunter was quick on his feet, rolling away at the last possible moment to avoid the attack and return it with one of his own.

Another powerful blast of dragon fire hit the Fatalis in the face and scorched its eyes terribly, blinding it long enough that by the time the pain subsided, the Hunter was gone from the courtyard. Snarling, the Fatalis lifted up into the air, hovering above the castle with angry eyes scanning the grounds trying to find some sign of the Hunter's presence.

_There!_

A massive fireball launched down and exploded against an empty suit of armor.

_What?_

Massive wings tucked themselves tightly and the Fatalis landed hard upon the castle's outer wall, glaring down at the melted remains. There was nothing but melted steel and ash, so then how? How had the armor—A flash of iron and its tail lashed out like a massive whip and snapped a javelin into useless twigs. A flap of massive wings and the Fatalis was airborne and releasing another thick stream of dragon fire along the ground before circling back anew to find—nothing.

Jaws opened in a primordial roar that shook the earth as the sky above ripped itself apart with lightning. The Fatalis was no fool, it _recognized_ that javelin for it had laid there on the ground for the last decade, untouched save for the wind of his wings. It landed at its former resting place and glared into the stairways leading up to one of the castle's massive turrets and unleashed another payload of dragon fire until the flames traveled upwards and burst forth from the tower's roof.

A faint screaming in the air, a weapon of cold, burning iron pierced the back of the Fatalis, just between its wings. It screamed in agony and turned its head about to see one of the castle's old harpoon launchers, its chain stretching back to its massive cannon and at its side was the Hunter.

Red lightning danced above and the chain snapped in half as the Fatalis jumped to the side and skittered forward at startling speeds. Its head turned and unleashed another great ball of fire that impacted like bombs against the opposing tower that managed to withstand the assault easily though the remaining weapons that armed it were now completely beyond use or repair.

The chain suddenly pulled tight, drawing the Fatalis' burning amber eyes away to see the Hunter standing down just out of reach of its massive tail, the thick chain impaled into the ground by a massive lance, another leftover of the castle's former residents. The Fatalis roared and with a painful jump forward, pulled the chain free of its back, the bloodied spear with its serrated spikes fell free, leaving a gaping hole in its back.

That was the last mistake it made.

In an instant, the Hunter was racing towards the Fatalis, the same hand aglow with dragon fire as the Fatalis' own jaws lit up with a hellish inferno. The Hunter jumped to the side, dodging a ball of flame as large as a small car, rolling beneath a thick stream that would have left his legs standing, the rest of his body naught but ash on the wind. He twisted out of the way of a whipping tail, ducking beneath a vicious swipe of draconian claws and was there upon the Fatalis' back like a monkey.

He didn't hesitate.

Fire was unleashed through the open wound and burned its way through the Fatalis' unprotected insides. The Fatalis screamed in agony as fire not its own exploded out from its mouth. Its cry echoed in the empty woods and the skies trembled before the dark clouds slowly started to fade until the sky was clear and the sun began to shine again. The great dragon fell to the ground, not dead but it would be soon enough.

It struggled to breathe but its lungs had been badly burned and every exhalation released another cloud of ash into the wind. Before its snout stood the Hunter, on one knee with his head bowed. Before him was a large metallic carving knife with an ornate hilt made to resemble a dragon in flight. It was not a weapon but it was recognized by the Fatalis.

"Forgive me…" The Hunter whispered, "but know that your death will serve a purpose, Elder Dragon…" The Hunter reached up and pulled free his protective cowl, revealing a head covered in ivory, eyes like sharpened emeralds and a face young yet worn. The face of an Old Boy…

"Your death will give life to a weapon that will make all who stand in its way tremble in fear. It will be mine for however long it chooses to be and in my hands it will do many things… but it is not my hands that it will stay with… In that boy's hands it will do many terrible things… and many great things… but that is still not enough to make what I've done right."

The Old Boy took a shuddering breath of air and something wet fell from his bowed face. _Tears_… The Fatalis realized. "Speak your last request and be it in my power I will see it done without fail. You have my word."

A deep, pained gasp, a choking laughter, wings clenching tightly in pain. _"The word… of a human… is worthless…"_ It rasped. Another choked cough of ash, the world slowly darkening though the sun shined high above. _"But… it is not… a human… that promises… There is one thing… you may grant me… my last… request…"_

"Name it and it will be done."

_"Go… back…"_

"Go back?"

_"Go… back… to… the beginning…"_

And it was dead.

A gloved hand clenched tightly, the stone talisman dead and dust within its grasp. A carving knife flashed in the daylight as the Old Boy whispered his promise.

"I intend to."

* * *

_You can't change the past, but you can improve the future._

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

_Monster Hunter_

Monsters and more monsters. Granted, it's not very Halloween-ish but damn it, I _love_ this game! Or at least, I love the monsters therein. I look forward to a version of the game that allows one to actually try and raise a few of the critters but I'll settle for some good old-fashioned slaying until then.

_The Black Fatalis_

The Black Fatalis, while not one of the most powerful monsters in the game, is one of the most legendary and is in itself contains several key ingredients to creating the most powerful weapon and armor set in _Monster Hunter_. Also, I can't help but noticing that generally any game that has dragons in it, the dragons are primarily those of the West rather than those of the Orient, especially when the dragons are to be _slain_… Of all the dragons in _Monster Hunter_, the Black Fatalis is by far the most simple in design and make and… I don't know, it has a nice charm to it. Personally, I'd rather have one as an ally than an enemy, that's for sure.

_Fate_

While the nights have been disorganized thus far, it is no mistake that Jacque's earliest life, and one of his greatest victories, is the second-to-last chapter in the story. This chapter takes place before all the rest and story-wise, occurred I'd say perhaps two, maybe even three lifetimes prior to Jacque fathering Betelgeuse but still centuries later, after the retreat to Grimmoire. It had to, after all, the time needed to create _that_ weapon from the Fatalis' remains would take quite some time to craft together properly.

_The Dragon Talisman_

The dragon talisman is the most powerful of the talismans, at least in terms of battle. To a normal bodied individual, the talisman produces a blast of fire of varying strength and range depending on the user's will and intent. Overcharged, the talisman recreates the flames of an ancient dragon, especially in the hands of one who feels no fear of death.


	13. The Final Night: Awakenings

**Disclaimer:** I own what is my own.

* * *

_"You can't possibly win."_

_"I don't have to win. I just have to make sure you lose!"_

* * *

**Thirteen Hallowed Nights**

**The Final Night:**

_"Awakenings"_

By Corvus no Genmu

The common dictionary dictates that ghosts are the disembodied souls of the departed, appearing before the living in a likeness of what they were once in life. This was a rather bland description to be sure but it was an accurate one towards ghosts as a whole. However, there begs the question whether the remains of the dead are all the same and the clear answer to that is another question.

Are people any different from one another?

What difference is there in a soul who died peacefully, surrounded by friends and family made over a lifetime to a soul whose life was tragically cut short before its time, its living body depraved beyond human measures before the mercy of death at long last befell them? What difference is there in they who died for their country and are thus forgotten by history as the winners and losers both? What difference is there in the death of a man who died as a hero but forever remembered as the darkest of villains?

So many different souls, so many different ends, it's a wonder the world as a whole has not run rampant with the departed but no, the dead do not remain to haunt the living. For you see, a long time ago there was a man sitting in the darkness of his cave, fearing that this was the night the sun would truly die forever and never rise again. As he sat shivering in the cold, he wished with all his might that the sun would rise again and as the sun is want to do, it do see that very next morning but the caveman, young in mind and spirit, believed that a force outside his comprehension heard his prayers and answered them.

Thus, the first god of man was born.

Perhaps, god is too strong a word for many to accept… a better word would perhaps be Incarnation for truly what god was there that did no represent an aspect of the mortal, a physical embodiment of wonder and fear? The Incarnations grew stronger with man's belief in their might, bathed in the power of their worship, drank from the sweet cups of love and dined on their delicious fear. However, so too did these Incarnations became stronger with every new man's disbelief, the harsh blades of truth cutting their flesh, the cruel sting of defeat as new Incarnations were born in the ashes of the old. Just like the civilizations of man, the Incarnations rose and fell but never did they die for so long as a single human soul believed in them, an Incarnation was as immortal as a god could be.

And with that immortality came the Hereafter, which in itself is not so much a place of existence as a _concept_ of existence for as said, belief is what gave birth to Incarnations past and present, so too did belief give existence to the realms of the dead and the departed. The worlds of the Hereafter are as unique to every dead soul that inhabits them and are each recognized instantly by the dead as what they believed in life. Many souls who've allowed even the tiniest hint of belief in their hearts find themselves in the Hereafter and so go to the realm they've earned in life.

The damned to whatever hellish plane that grants them their everlasting torment, the virtuous fly free in their heavenly clouds free in death from what they've endured in life, but what of the souls who do not go straight to these polar realms? Those that _refuse_ to accept their death whatever the cause of it? Those that had the power to fight tooth and nail against the Incarnations of Death to haunt and torment the living? Many failed to escape and those few that did were swiftly put to an end by whatever means were necessary.

Rejected by death, caught forever as spectral remains of themselves, these souls, these _ghosts_ made a realm all to their own in the empty corridors of the Hereafter, a place that many in the modern age refer as the Ghost Zone. A place as infinite as the souls the make it their home, the Ghost Zone was but a simple strand compared to the vast tapestry of the Hereafter but it was here that the many powerful of souls resided, including the most powerful soul of them all.

In life, he was but a simple man blessed perhaps by a kind hand of luck. Whatever it had been it was forgotten in a flash of a knife's blade for in life, this man was not destined for anything greater than what the common man could become but in death he earned a fate that would last him well in eternity.

The first true victim of murder.

Oh yes, many a living creature was killed but before this none had been killed intentionally for the sheer depraved joy of the act. It had always been for food, for life, that many a man killed another in battle just and fair. No, this was not an act of fairness nor did it hold a reason justifiable. The man was murdered and so in death became something great, something the likes of which the living world had never seen before.

The man had become a ghost.

* * *

Danny Fenton had faced all kinds of ghosts in his escapades as his ghostly alias of Danny Phantom. He had faced the wicked Undergrowth, the spectral embodiment of plants whose hatred for fauna of the world knew no boundaries and had come back with a mastery over ice. He stood against the dreadful Vortex, the poltergeist of hurricanes and, for a time, held that same power in his hands and stood like a god for all that it took before he realized that level of power was something no being should possess. He had even faced against a dark and terrible future where he had for all intents and purposes died and became a full-ghost the likes of which could not be equaled by any of his common rouge gallery, the same rouges that sat around him in fear not for that Dark Dan, but for someone else altogether.

Pariah Dark the Ghost King.

Huddled safely away from prying eyes in an abandoned hunting goods store, Danny let his eyes travel over the gathered ghosts and for the first time allowed himself to clearly see them for what they were. Skulker, the Ghost Zone's self-proclaimed greatest hunter with a body of futuristic armaments that gave him an unfair advantage in every hunt he took but considering the ghost's true form was that of prey rather than predator it was more sad than intimidating. Danny wondered what the man had been in life that he was so weak in death.

Nicolai Technus, a scientist whose obsession with machinery bordered on the fanatic who never ever seemed to shut up with his monologing was now strangely silent, his eyes downcast on the floor. Walker whose rules as warden were self-made and held in high regard though his law was generally ignored by most save for the guards of his prison. A man so proud of his law now stood alone to uphold it.

The Box Ghost and the Lunch Lady, two specters that had their own obsessions over what they were in life. Of the gathered ghosts they were perhaps the most mundane in power and ability but it was also they who likely died in similar times for the familiarity they silently expressed by clutching the hand of the other. Cute, but _really_ creepy.

Johnny 13 and his girlfriend Kitty stood in the dark corner of the shop where the biker's shadow stretched like a protective cloak over them both. They had died as teenagers and had all the confidence of one but that confidence was gone now and they were both clearly afraid for their after-lives.

Youngblood, the ghostly child forever caught in an endless game of pretend, was dressed in the guise of a pirate but where the game went as far as to actually inspire the lad to actually _be_ what he pretended, the reality of the situation made it all to clear that Youngblood for all his pretending of pirates and cowboys, was still a little boy. His little arms were wrapped tightly around the legs of Ember McLain who spared the boy the occasional withering glare but did not push him away.

With hair burning like fire and a personality to match, it was hard to imagine the rocker actually caring about anyone other than herself, that constant need to hear her name chanted by the masses of her fans always made her seem the most selfish of the ghosts but Danny had been curious one night not too long ago and listened to her music (with adequate protection of course) and he understood perhaps more than Ember actually wanted anyone to but he did. He did not know the details of her death but of the gathered ghosts here, hers was the most obvious to speculate.

The last ghost, the one who had ceased the hostilities between Danny and Skulker, was by far the oldest of them and the only one that Danny knew the most about. Alive when the sands of Arabia were young, she was a simple, if not gorgeous, harem girl who won the heart of a sultan and was promised all of heart's desires but the sultan's wife was a bitter piece of jealousy and had her banished from the kingdom. Desiree died of a broken heart not long after and became what she was now, a spectral genie who granted every wish she heard but twisted it sharply upon its ear.

All these powerful ghosts gathered like frightened rabbits before a monstrous beast… Just how strong is this so-called King of Ghosts that he commands such fear with the mere mentioning of his _name_? Yes, Danny had seen the faint twitching from the hardier Skulker and Walker, the flinching from the young and inexperienced Youngblood and teenagers Johnny 13 and Kitty, and the outright squeals of terror from the Box Ghost.

Pariah Dark had destroyed their homes in the Ghost Zone, injuring many of them and outright destroying what few dared to impede him in his search for his ring. His army composed of the soldiers of ages' past, of separate nations and separate times. All now stood united under a common flag and served the same will for they had none of their own. The Ghost King had done all this without the aid of his Ring of Rage… and Danny dared not imagine what would happen once he reclaimed it.

"We can't let him get it!" Danny Fenton rose to his feet a ring of spectral light shining across his form until he stood proudly as Danny Phantom, looking over the ghosts one-by-one. "But I'm gonna need all of you to help me put the Ghost King to sleep. I'll need you to battle against all odds, face untold danger, doom, and destruction with no guarantee of ever coming back! Who's with me?"

* * *

At the edge of Amity Park stood a young man at the end of his teenage years dressed entirely in shades of black and gray of notable distinction and yet maintaining a modernized casual look. Strapped at his side was a massive black sheathe of a katana that seemed to pulse like the beat of a heart. His hair, cut haphazardly and almost wild in its nature, was colored like ivory and his eyes; oh his eyes were like emeralds shining in the dark. A wedding ring adorns his left hand which holds a simple photograph in a tight grip.

On the photo is the man himself with a beautiful woman of Scottish descent sitting beside him on a loveseat. Her hair is like turquoise waves falling down her back and though she obviously the mature one of the pair she is dressed to impress with her cleavage neatly displayed and her leather pants fitting to the curves of her legs like a second skin. She is sitting with her legs across the man's own, a hand stroking the cloth of his chest but she has time enough to wink teasingly for the camera. On her hand is a matching wedding ring.

Behind them standing like a monolith was a man who appeared to be in the prime of his life with the muscles of one who has fought for everything he has. He was dressed from a recent stint of exercise that left a fine sheen of sweat on his brow and his hair, white with only faint streaks of gray to show its former obsidian, was brushed back with six long pigtails that fell along the curve of his back. His face was set like stone but there was a faint smile as he stood with arms crossed over his muscular chest.

At the feet of the couple sitting with her legs hugged to her chest was a young child of eight year with shining blue eyes and long hair black as moonless night, held back from her face by a hair band the color of the man's eyes. She is dressed in a pretty dress colored in faint shades of violet with blackened accents, a clear sign of her disfavor to the color white. She is smiling as she leans against the shoulder of another girl, this one her senior by four years more with fine brown hair cut short to the back of her neck. She wore a blouse of navy blue and a golden ribbon at the collar with a generous length of red dress. Her eyes were a faint brown and seemed almost empty were it not for the faint smile on her face as she kept an arm wrapped around the shoulders of the younger girl.

Last but not least was a simple black cat with an eye of amber and an eye of turquoise lying across the arm of the loveseat looking to the entire world that it owned that chair and it was through its good graces that the couple was allowed to sit there. There was no telling its breed though it was quite large for a housecat with a tail longer in length than its body.

All in all the picture showed a happy family and that was they were, but there was so much more to them than what appeared.

He tucked the photo away into his breast pocket and stared up at the dome of ecto-energy that surrounded Amity Park. This late in the night, the only ones nearby and awake were the military forces; no one would see him break in until it was too late to stop him. He slowly unsheathed his katana until the whole of the blade was revealed. Just as long as he was tall, excluding the massive hilt which appeared built for two pairs of hands. The actual blade portion of the sword was colored like fine wine while the so-called dull-side had a small series of blackened edges like flames flowing down the katana to its tip. Holding it tightly inn with both hands, the young man held the sword parallel to the ground.

"In yester years I was known by many names. In present time, I am called Jacque. In the coming years I may well earn more names for myself… but today, you will earn your name. You will make all that stand against you tremble in fear and you will show them what it means to stand against a god. Serve me well this day, _Divine Slasher!_"

Jacque raised the sword on high and brought it crashing down against the dome. A stream of red light crashed against the shield, coursing up along the sphere like lightning until the entire thing came crashing apart like fine glass. Jacque started running even as the shards of the field fell around him like monstrous hail. The moment he entered the city proper he knew instantly that something was wrong. He spared a glance at the sky and bit back a foul curse.

The sky was flash between starry night and the endless void of the Ghost Zone and with a sound like thunder breaking on the horizon, a castle appeared above the sky, a massive rip still formed behind it. Jacque recognized it for what it was and started running faster, sheathing the Divine Slasher as he raced towards Casper High's football field where the dome originated from.

* * *

Danny cursed his childishness once again as he stared up at the castle floating high above Amity Park. He had asked for help and he received none and what was his first plan of action after that? Getting into another pointless fight with his archenemy Vlad Masters AKA Vlad Plasmius. The elder halfa knew how to push the younger's buttons well and didn't hold anything back, verbally or otherwise. Plasmius _knew_ that Danny hated to be compared with him, hated the idea that his future was destined to be evil, and frankly Phantom was sick of hearing it.

Even as the shield crumbled down above them, Danny didn't think only react by pulling the Fright Knight's sword, the Soul Shredder, free from where it rested, dead center in Casper High's football field. Danny felt the familiar strange rush of power and he pushed back against it as much as he could, recalling the first time he heedlessly used the sword just in time to see Pariah Dark's castle appear above Amity Park with the Ghost King himself at the fore.

The Soul Shredder pulled itself free from Danny's hand, flying up to land in the grasp of the Fright Knight, the self-proclaimed Spirit of Halloween and master of the Soul Shredder and all its powers. Pariah Dark regarded the two below with clear disdain, his sole eye seeing the human hearts still beating beneath their ghostly exteriors. He raised a solitary hand and with a sudden sense of dread, Phantom and Plasmius realized that the clear aura of power surrounding the Ghost King was but a pale imitation for their adorning Pariah's middle finger was the Ring of Rage, its crimson eyes pulsing like a heartbeat before it flashed with power and a beam of crimson ecto-energy came crashing down upon the halfas with enough force to render them human.

At least, it would have had it connected with them both.

Danny felt something grab the back of his collar and he was pulled off his feet and well out of the way of the blast. Plasmius wasn't so lucky and by the looks of his human body, he wouldn't be up to anything more than an extensive stay in the hospital. Phantom glanced up at his savior and met intensely burning emerald eyes set in a human face.

"So you're that halfa I've been hearing so much about…" muttered Jacque, giving Danny a quick once-over before setting him down on his feet.

"Who the heck are you?" asked Danny, his eyes on Jacque's sword. _Is it me or does that thing have a pulse?_

But Jacque's eyes were no longer on Phantom; they were staring up into the sky at a black knight riding a night-mare with emerald sword in hand. Emerald eyes narrowed before it came to him in a flash. "You…"

Fright Knight's own eyes were narrowed as he stared down at the young man below while Pariah Dark stared down amused with what he was sure to be quite the show for he knew just who, and _what_, Jacque was. This was going to get messy and he'd rather watch the proceedings in the comfort of his throne room. He faded away from sight with a cruel smile on his face.

He had some old friends to meet with after all…

Jacque flew upwards in a massive leapt, the Divine Slasher cutting the night-mare's head asunder, its blade just missing the Fright Knight's neck. The spectral knight leapt free from his dead steed and landed roughly on his feet. He spared a glare at the remains of his horse before turning burning eyes upon Jacque.

"I know not your quarrel with me, whelp but—" He raised the Soul Slasher just in time to block a swipe that would have cut him asunder had he hesitated. "Graa! Strong for a human aren't you?"

"Who said I was human, you traitorous scum?" Jacque growled. Fright Knight's eyes widened at the sound of Jacque's voice. Jacque pushed back with all his strength, sending the knight back stumbling on his feet but he remained ready for another vicious assault. "Do you remember me, Fright Knight? Do you remember the oath you swore to me, the oath that you broke?"

"Impossible… The Observants, they assured me that you were dead!"

"I _am_ dead!" Jacque shot forward and cut the football goal like a tree. Fright Knight was up and flying away and Jacque gave chase after him, running with all his power even as the ghostly knight unleashed beams of nightmarish power from the Soul Shredder, turning the environment against Jacque in a most literal way. A mailbox became a massive tower of snapping jaws with acidic teeth; a lamp-post became a tentacles beast that tossed fire every which way it could.

The Divine Slasher flashed like crimson light, and whatever that stood between Jacque and his prey, but for every one he cut down five more appeared in its place until, with a terrible scream of anger, Jacque swung the Divine Slasher with all his might up at the Fright Knight. A wave of reddish light flew like an arc through the air but the Fright Knight dropped like a stone beneath the attack which carried on until it struck the nearby Fenton Work's, cleaving the top accessories of the building away into ash on the wind just as the anti-ghost field was about to deploy.

Using his conjured monsters as cover, the Fright Knight flew forward and met Jacque blade for blade, each exchanging strikes at blinding speeds until they were deadlocked once again.

"Do you have _any_ idea what you've done to me?" growled Jacque, pushing with all his might against Fright Knight but the specter had the strength of a ghost against Jacque's mortal body. "My kind weren't meant to be mortal you _idiot!_ You've upset the Balance for centuries to come with your betrayal and for what? My _scythe?_"

"The Soul Shredder serves me better than it ever did you! And one more thing," Fright Knight's eyes lit up and he unleashed a blast of ecto-energy that sent Jacque flying back, skidding painfully against the ground. He sheathed the Soul Shredder and turned his back upon Jacque. "I don't _believe_ in you any longer."

"Henh… don't you dare… turn your back… on me!" Jacque pushed himself back on his feet and raced forward to cut the Fright Knight down but the ghost flew up and away, back towards Pariah's castle as it moved to the outskirts of the city. Jacque watched him go with clear disdain in his eyes and noted how the grounds that supported the castle were expanding outwards as if in need of the extra space… "Oh… that… isn't good."

"Okay, I don't know who you are but I demand some answers!" Jacque turned and saw Phantom touching down. The half-ghost brandished a handful of ecto-energy at Jacque. "Who, or what, are you?"

"I'm… a friend. Call me Jacque." He made a show of looking Phantom over. "You are younger than I thought you'd be… you are a smart boy but intelligence does not equal experience… You would lead the ghosts to war?" He snorted. "You know nothing of war…"

Danny scowled, feeling a familiar sense of déjà vu with the older boy. "Yeah? Do you think you know any more than me?"

Jacque inclined his head, a strange smile on his pale face. "I am not familiar with War but I am acquainted… Tell me young Phantom… do you think yourself capable of standing up to the Ghost King and winning his crown?"

"What? Why would I—"

"Because by now I'm sure…" Jacque winced at a faint twitch of pain but ignored it, "that Pariah has seen to the destruction of the sarcophagus that imprisoned him. As I see it, you've only three options left. Option one, you take your family, run, and start praying… and hope that your God is in a listening mood."

"Yeah, so not doing that." Danny stated with a cold scowl.

"As I expected. Option two, you try and seal Pariah up a different way. You may try with your technology but it will fail you all the same."

"Oh yeah? And how would you know that?"

"Think, Danny!" snapped Jacque. He was in pain so of course he'd be a little snappish with the boy. "If it were truly so easy to seal Pariah up, would all the ghosts be fleeing for their after-lives rather than standing up against him?"

"Uh… okay, point there… Well, what's option three then?"

"Option three… is to do what no one has ever done before… You must face Pariah in combat. You must fight him with _everything_ you have and claim his crown as yours."

"Yeah, that doesn't sound impossible."

"That's not the hard part. In order to claim his crown… you have to destroy him."

"What? You can't mean—"

"I do. You have to kill him, Danny Phantom. You have to kill Pariah Dark."

* * *

Sitting down with her arms wrapped painfully tight around Nibi, Samara stared with wide-eyes as the news continued on to show what had to be the most incredible thing she had ever seen in her life and considering just who and what she was, that was truly saying something. A hand gently squeezed her shoulder and she glanced up at Red, who smiled reassuringly at the young girl, her eyes filled with cold determination. Though clear on the other side of the country, Amity Park's sudden plague of ghosts did not necessarily mean that it would remain localized for long if the numbers continued to grow as they did.

"It'll be okay… Grampa is here to protect us…" Red whispered. Samara turned to look at the chair that the man himself occupied as he stared grimly at the television.

A flash of emerald fire and Morrigan was in the living room looking as though she was supporting the biggest headache known to man. She collapsed onto the empty love-seat with a groan.

"Are you alright, Mommy?" asked Samara, relaxing her grip on Nibi somewhat.

"I'm fine, darling… just had to deal with some Makai politics is all… this whole thing with Pariah Dark has got—" She cut herself off as the girls gasped in surprise as Algol crushed his cup of coffee in his hands. As the reporter continued babbling on, it showed a view of the castle of Pariah Dark where a massive skeletal army was assembled. From afar, it merely looked as though the castle had a generous growth of grass surrounding it but upon closer inspection it was truly an army that bordered well into the millions, but it was not the army itself that surprised the family.

There at the end of the massive cliff standing with a small gathering of ghosts in clear opposition to Pariah's army was Jacque.

Morrigan shot to her feet, her true form appearing in a flash of demonic fire but Algol was there in front of her. "I dare you to try and stop me Algol."

Algol shook his head. "You're not going anywhere. Not without me. He's important to me too, Morrigan."

"Fine…" she sighed, before she shot a warning glare at the two girls. "You will stay here where it's safe. No arguments."

Seeing no argument from them, Morrigan slowly spread her wings out to surround them as purple energy began to dance around them. At the last possible moment, Samara and Red leapt into their adopted mother's arms just in time to be teleported away.

From where it landed on the floor, Nibi slowly licked a forepaw before sparing a glance at the television screen. A flash of black flames and it too was gone.

* * *

Things weren't looking good for them, Jacque realized as he cut down another dozen soldiers with his sword. Oh yes, the soldiers were easy to destroy but the sheer number of them was overwhelming even with the ghosts that appeared to help him and Danny make way into the castle with the boy himself armed in that ridiculous mechanical suit. At least the halfa had a fighting chance against Pariah and was well into the castle thanks to the combined efforts of Desiree and Skulker.

"Jacque you lying bastard!" A sudden blast of demonic fire exploded like napalm as a familiar bat-winged form flew down to knock Jacque flat on his back. He gasped in surprise but found his lips busy in a meeting with his wife's own as Morrigan ravaged the inside of his mouth with her tongue. Pulling back and smiling brilliantly though her eyes were aglow with her anger, the succubus told Jacque in no uncertain terms that they would be having a long talk when they got back about how his irresponsibility was infecting their children.

She flew off with a delighted laugh, launching a fresh new attack against the hordes of skeletons before Jacque had a chance to ask for clarification when he got it in the form of a battle-saw flying through the air like a serrated discus. He tracked the weapon until it was caught by a familiar young girl.

"Red? Samara?" Yes, his girls were there and fighting with everything they had. Red with her trademark redcap and battle-saw, was cutting down whole scores of soldiers that approached her as she stood with her back against Samara whose hair moved in an unseen wind as every skeleton before her eyes crumbled to dust.

Glancing the opposite way, Ember just had to ask, "Please tell me that guy is with you?"

Jacque turned and saw Algol in full battle armor with his hands aglow with the lights of his signature weapons, cutting down any soldier that dared to approach him but while the others that fell soon reassembled themselves, all that fell to Algol's power did not rise again, their souls either devoured or purified by the powers he contained.

"He is. Best you go and tell the others to not get too close to him." Jacque lopped off a soldier's head and stabbed another in the gut, tossing it like a bowling ball into another group.

"I'm gonna regret askin' but why?"

"Do the names Soul Calibur and Soul Edge ring a bell to you?"

Ember's hair nearly snuffed itself out. "Shit!" She was off like a flaming rocket, screaming at the others to clear away from the old, glowing guy and smacked anyone who questioned her about it. Jacque couldn't help but chuckle when a sudden primordial scream rent the air. He looked up just in time to see the sun suddenly became eclipsed as a massive demonic bat came diving down not at him but at his wife.

She was slammed into the ground, her hands held up above her head and her legs pinned down.

"Hello my dear…"

Morrigan's eyes snapped open in disbelief before they narrowed in anger. "Demitri?"

Seeing the danger their mother was in, Samara and Red started to race towards her when the soldiers suddenly parted before them to reveal a quivering mass of black that sent a cold shiver up Samara's spine and stopped Red dead in her tracks as she realized just what that mass of darkness was even before it took shape of a monstrous wolf with a single gleaming white eye.

"The Big Bad Wolf…"

Algol raised a hand, intending to blast his way forward when he suddenly was met with a gunshot to the face. It impacted with an explosion of soul-infused energy, enough to actually send him back half-a-step from the pain of the strike. He growled and turned to glare at a man that the Soul Edge within him recognized for it was well acquainted with the man. "Cervantes de Leon I presume."

_How… How was this happening?_ There was no way for all three of them to be here, some more so than others! Cervantes was _dead_! Dead for several centuries now so how was he here alive and in his prime _before_ Soul Edge's taint on his corpse? As for Big Bad, the damnable wolf was a creation of Grimmoire! No matter its obsession with her, it should not have been capable of chasing Red all the way here! Unless…

A voice cried out to him, lost in the roar of battle and Jacque whirled on his feet, the Divine Slasher flying away from his hands. He grunted and tasted the coppery flavor of blood in his mouth before he slowly looked down to see a mortal sword imbedded into his heart gripped by the armored hand of the Fright Knight.

"This time…" Fright Knight twisted the blade deeper. "_Stay_ dead."

* * *

Danny was panting for breath as he kneeled in the remains of the ecto-skeleton, his similarly damaged copies vanishing one by one until he was the only one left. Pariah Dark stood tall over him wielding a massive war axe in his hand and glaring down at Phantom with open disdain. The battle had been difficult in the beginning but the boy had used a generous amount of his power just trying to get to his throne room. Had he been at full strength at the beginning, the lad might have actually won.

And that wasn't a chance Pariah dare to take a second time.

He raised his axe on high but paused when he heard a faint whistling sound before the wall to his throne room was blasted open as Jacque's sword came flying in to pierce the ground before Danny Phantom. The halfa was surprised by the sword's sudden appearance but seeing the war-axe coming down for his neck, he reached up and grasped it. Like the Soul Shredder, a sudden surge of power sudden flooded throw the halfa but unlike the emerald blade, Danny dared not reject it. In fact, he welcomed it with everything he had and in that instant he became more than just the ghost of a teenage boy.

A jewel the size of a baseball appeared at the base of Danny's neck, a small ovular jewel where a dark slit stared outwards very much like an eye as a massive white cape flow back like wings from Danny's shoulders. His uniform no longer resembled a standard jumpsuit but one would expect from a full-fledged hero and was now far more stylized than ever before with his symbol glowing brightly at his chest. In his hands, the Divine Slasher roared with the chorus of dragons as its energies pulsed in place of Danny's silent heart.

He became a full-bodied _phantom_.

* * *

Morrigan saw Jacque fall back and with him so did her world start to crumble around her as the bond between them started to die like ash on the wind. She trembled as tears fell from her eyes before a cruel laugh brought her eyes back up to her attacker. Now in his near-human form Demitiri Maximoff resembled every bit the old century nobleman that he had been in life but the disgusting leer in his eyes as he stared at her was unmistakable. With her husband dead and the bound between them gone, there was nothing to stop Demitiri from claiming her as his for at that precise moment, Morrigan honestly didn't think she'd have the resolve to kill him.

_Kindness melts away the wretched slimes of envy…_

Algol roared his fury as his might overwhelmed the gathered soldiers and blasted them away into dust but Cervantes still remained standing for he had a living body to anchor his soul away from the fangs of Soul Edge and the touch of Soul Calibur. Algol had not seen the killing blow but he had felt the light of Jacque's soul suddenly diminish and he knew he had no more time to waste in holding back. His family was in danger.

_A patient hand rectifies the wrath of the wicked._

Red's world was falling apart before her eyes with her adopted father suddenly falling back dead by a sword in his heart. She imagined the blood on her hands, the blade's hilt still cold in her iron grip though it wasn't her that did it she still blamed herself all the same. Her first family died because of her, it made sense that her second one would die just the same…

_The cool touch of temperance masters the untamed flames of lust._

Samara was staring in horror as the blood pooled out from beneath Jacque's unmoving body. Her mother was losing the will to live, her sister was breaking, and her grandfather was struggling to make some kind of difference and all she could do was stand and watch as her father died before her eyes. _No… No…_ "NOOOOO!"

_Generosity brings together the broken pieces of avarice._

Desiree felt cold dread make a pit of her stomach as she realized that all hop was truly lost. "I wish… that there was another way…" Unbeknownst to her, her magic activated, granting her own true selfless wish and a piece of paper suddenly appeared in front of a startled Ember McLain. She snatched it out of midair and slowly read its contents aloud. "Though I know I should be wary, still I venture someplace scary? Ghostly hauntings I turn loose, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice?"

A crack of lightning lit up the sky as a deranged voice cackled about the battlefield before the ground exploded violently upwards in the midst of the reassembling soldiers, blasting away their remains to the four corners as a poltergeist appeared in all his pin-striped glory. He grinned revealing disgusting yellowed teeth.

"It's showtime!"

_Zealous actions clear away the dusty cobwebs of sloth._

Fright Knight stood over the body with cold disdain, clearly uncaring of its fate after death and turned his back upon it, only to receive a powerful punch to the face by a massive red-stoned fist. He was sent flying back and plowed through several soldiers before stopping himself to stare at the being that dared to strike him.

"What the hell?"

"Close, but no cigar." Hellboy gripped his fist tightly and charged forward as the stone runes alit themselves with hellish light.

_Humility shatters the false ideals built of pride's arrogance._

Jacque laid there dead as any man would be from a sword to the chest even as Nibi slowly stepped forward, its twin tails swishing along behind it as it stared at the corpse with narrowed eyes. It wondered not for the first time if this was truly how it was all to end but it knew it was to be the moment Jacque freed it from the guts of that awful rage-driven curse. Nibi slowly climbed atop Jacque's chest until it stood staring down at the man's face. Its body flashed for a moment, revealing a strange talisman floating in place of where the nekomata stood.

Jacque's finger twitched, a faint shadow of a worker's glove appearing over the pale flash.

Nibi's tails began to swerve and dance, carving intricate designs into the air as lightning started to flash in various hues in the sky above. The other Incarnations were aware of what was happening and if there was heart left in any of them they would help.

Lightning came crashing down and struck the blade's hilt, sending several thousand gigawatts of power coursing through the nekomata and it used that energy to unleash the full potential of its power. A feline's loud yowl echoed across the battlegrounds but still the individual battles continued until a new sound brought everything to a screeching halt.

Laughter.

Jacque stood alive and well, his wound gone, the sword naught but molten steel at his feet. He stood there laughing like a lunatic as he glowed like a star before unleashing his power in a massive wave that wiped out the remaining soldiers in one fell swoop as he assumed his true and rightful form.

The creature towered at a height of eight feet with the body of an adult man with limbs too long, too stretched, to be human in nature. The hands flexed and blades ripped through cloth to replace normal fingers. A glimmering fedora of deep violet with a shining red feather moving gently as though there was a gentle autumn's wind flowing through the air sat atop the thing's head which was that of a large jack-o-lantern that smiled and stared with emerald fires dancing in its skull.

"**_I…_**" Emerald fire lit up in clawed hands. "**_Am…_**" Skeletal wings of a bird burst from his back, ebony feathers flying. "**_Alive!_**"

In an instant Jacque was before a stunned Samara and Red, his long branchy arms wrapped around them in a hug before he took off into the air with them, his head turning completely about to unleash a massive blast of emerald fire that vanquished the construction of the Big Bad Wolf.

Seeing him alive and in his true form, Morrigan realized the full truth of who she had married as the bond renewed itself between them stronger than ever before, giving her a sudden overcharge of energy. She screamed and unleashed a beam of concentrated youki straight from her torso that sent Demitiri up and away into the sky. A flash of raven's feathers and a rusty chain bound itself tightly around the vampire lord. A mighty heave and he was pulled down to the ground as the magics of the chains worked upon him, his body withering as all the blood he ever feasted upon began to drain away. Demitri screamed in agony as his body started to wither away into nothing as Jacque stood over him, clutching his adopted children close with one arm, the other still grasping the chain.

"**_I have a message for you from your first childe, Demitri…_**" Spikes burst from the chains, piercing the dried husk that was a former vampire lord and unleashing a tremendous backlash of vampyric energies upon him and he exploded into a cloud of ash on the wind. "**_Eli hopes that you enjoy your stay in Hell!_**"

Inspired, and confused by the boy's transformation, Algol reacted just as strongly to his return as Morrigan and summoned both blades to him. He regarded the madly grinning pirate of lifetimes' past and in a burst of light speed was suddenly behind Cervantes, the Soul Calibur held out to one side, its pristine blade dirtied with blood. Cervantes turned and raised his gunsword to fire but stopped dead on his feet, his eyes wide and glazed over before his head fell clean from his shoulders. The eye of Soul Edge lit up with hungry intensity as it devoured the reincarnated soul of the pirate captain as the body crumbled back to the stone it once was.

Beetlejuice shivered at the grisly scene but wasn't one to back down from a challenge. Regarding the reforming army of skeleton, he wondered briefly how best to handle the soldiers when he was suddenly, and quite literally, struck by an idea. A quick shift and his hands became like saw blades spinning with a roar that was more organic than machine as he launched himself high into the air with a mad cackle before crashing down and slicing away like a demented axe-man upon the regenerating horde.

With a flap of feathered wings, Jacque landed in a kneeling crouch next to Morrigan and wordlessly placed his children down beside her. "**_Stay with your mother._**" He ordered and with a gust of wind was up and away, landing down next to a smirking Hellboy as the two stood before a thoroughly horrified Fright Knight.

"Huh…" Hellboy, regarding the changed form of his godfather with the light of truth sparkling in his eyes. "So this is what you really look like Monshroud. Gotta say, it fits."

A sardonic smirk flitted across a pumpkin's head before emerald flames narrowed in a focused inferno upon a dishonored knight that had once sworn to serve him, who still held his stolen weapon in his gauntlet-covered hand. A clawed hand raised up, beckoning the sword.

"**_Soul Shredder. To me._**" The blade flew free from the knight's grip and in Jacque's hand twisted upon itself with a scream that sounded more relieved than agonized until it was a massive war-scythe. The staff of the scythe was made of pure obsidian while the curved blades were a shining emerald, the shorter side extending out less than a foot while the larger bordered well over three feet. At the top of the staff was a piece of carved amber resembling a pumpkin resting as the weapon's crown. Jacque smiled and caressed the weapon like an old friend. "**_Well, well… how the tables have turned…_**"

"This… This is impossible!"

"**_Improbable._**" Jacque argued. "**_After all, nothing is impossible._**" A burst of feathers flew into the air and Jacque was before the Fright Knight, one clawed hand gripping the ghost's throat in a bladed vice, holding up high into the air. "**_Once you swore your sword and service were mine. To ask what I would of you! To call when I had need of you! You had my trust, you had my respect, so why…? Why would you throw all that away? For this?_**" He loosely twirled the Soul Shredder; dangerously close to slicing the knight's arm clean off.

Being dead, Fright Knight had no need to breathe but the touch of Jacque's hands were not spectral or human by any means, and the traitorous knight had trouble not shivering from the familiar coldness of Jacque's touch. "You said… that she would be mine… you _promised me!_"

"**_Fool._**" A mad cackle of flames in a pumpkin's skull, a cruel scowl of wicked fangs. "**_She was never yours to begin with! As I promised you when you swore yourself to me, I shall give you _**exactly**_ what you deserve Son of Ban._**" A flash of emerald-tinted steel and the Fright Knight's head flew through the air to land at the door to Pariah's castle. The glimmering eyes beneath the dark metals of the helmet shined before fading to black as the ghostly remains of the Fright Knight fell away as dust on the wind, his soul wiped away from existence.

Suddenly, a deep piercing howl rent the air as crimson beams shot out from deep within the Ghost King's palace as the ground quaked madly while lightning came crashing down from cloudless skies. The spectral soldiers fell like leaves scattered on the winds, their bones empty of whatever force was driving them to their dark bidding. A beam of light appeared on the horizon, dawn was approaching and with it a new era. The door to Pariah's castle opened slowly with a creaking of age before a lone figured emerged.

Green eyes snapped open, snow-white hair falling past on a face pale as death. A massive white cloak billowed in the wind behind the teenage boy dressed in black and white. On one hand he bore a ring of emeralds, rubies, and a faint touch of ivory, all collected and carved into the shape of a green skull with burning red eyes and shining white teeth; the Ring of Rage. The other hand was clutching the long hilt of a massive katana whose blade shined red and pulsed like the beat of a living heart; the Divine Slasher. Atop the head of snow was a golden crown wreathed in ectoplasmic fires that burned brightly yet did no harm to the head it rested upon; the Crown of Rage.

Three items of incredible potential and unmatched power, all in the hands of a fourteen year old boy. A boy who had through circumstances outside his control become a rare breed of creature, neither alive nor dead but _both_ all at once. Through his trials he became a defender of peace, through his hardships he became a warrior of honor, and through blood and tears he became a king.

A Ghost King born by the flesh of a human boy.

Emerald flames flickered in a head made of a freshly-carved pumpkin head with a large fedora of violet clothe and red phoenix feather. In one gloved hand he clutched a massive battle-scythe made of obsidian staff and emerald blade bedecked with a crown of a grinning jack-o-lantern, a mirror tribute to its master and creator; the Soul Shredder. The other hand was empty and hanging loosely at his side, metal claws sheathed and away beneath leather glove. Upon his back was a large pair of bony avian wings with ebony pinions gently brushing the ground. Through his trials he had learned of humanity, through his hardships he earned a heart, and through blood and tears he made well the art of self-sacrifice.

An Incarnation of Death blessed with a heart.

The King regarded the Incarnation in silence for a long moment before he beckoned with his hand and his blade's sheathe came flying from where it lay discarded. Returning the sword to its resting place and allowing the sheathe a place on his belt, the fires of his crown dimmed to faint embers, the rage in the ring dying to a faint grumble.

Two rings of white appeared at his midsection and spread themselves apart and gone was the form of the Ghost King, replaced by his first form of a human boy of fourteen years empty of his crown and ring, defenseless without his weapon. He collapsed to his knees, gasping for air as the Incarnation watched in silence before his wings cocooned around him. A gust of wind blew and gone was the towering form of an Incarnation of Death, replaced now by a young man in his late teens with fine ivory hair and eyes like emeralds.

He stood alone, unmoving, afraid to turn around to see what might await him.

A pair of hands grabbed his left, the hand of a young girl of eight years with obsidian hair and eyes of startling blue. Another girl, one of twelve years, grabbed his right arm in a tight, vicious hug. Sensuous arms of a woman wrapped themselves slowly from behind, soft hands massaging his chest as a pair of feminine lips teased at his neck. A massive hand callused from battle and hardship gripped his shoulder, an old man's sign of approval.

A faint smile on a pale face, words whispered in an autumn wind.

* * *

**_"The King is dead. Long live the King."_**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

_Danny Phantom _

_Danny Phantom_ is likely one of the best action/adventure cartoon series that Nickelodeon has ever produced (aside from Avatar: The Last Airbender of course) and the only real fault I had for it was that ghosts started becoming "separate entities" capable of actually growing older, dying, and (most disturbingly) _reproducing_. I've enjoyed many of Butch Hartman's works but _Danny Phantom_ is the definite jewel of the bunch. A nice array of ghosts, sci-fi technology, and good old Saturday morning humor. Still, I can't help but wonder if _Danny Phantom_ hadn't been made for kids in mind, rather a more mature audience like late teens or the like, how horrifically scary would it be?

_The Knight and the King_

The Fright Knight never sat well with me as a "spirit of Halloween" especially considering his main weakness is that banishing spell which can easily be cast on Hallow's Eve, the same night that the Fright Knight would be at his strongest. As far as original Halloween specters go, I found the Fright Knight to be servely lacking in many regards. I admit, being a cartoon, they couldn't make him _too_ scary but really, Nightmare from Soul Calibur was more frightening and that was before the armor started walking around on its own. Also, I like his weapon and its abilities but the Soul Shredder seemed rather… tame… yes, tame as far as Halloween weapons go.

Pariah Dark was the perfect Ghost King but there was so much that they left out in his background that could have enhanced his character further! _Why_ was he so powerful as to be able to wear the Crown of Fire and use the Ring of Rage? _Where_ did such powerful artefacts even come from and _how_ was he the only one able to use them? _When _did he rule the Ghost Zone as to be called the Ghost King? _Who _was he in life that made him a monster in death? And the most important question of all: _what_ the hell was he thinking not destroying the only thing capable of stopping him in the first place.

_Awakenings_

Why was it that, in an alternate future, Danny's ghost half was not only evil but incredibly powerful as to be unrivaled by everyone? Yes, it could be argued that fusing with Plasmius is what made "Dan" so powerful but he did that of his own free will to begin with. I don't buy into the theory that ghosts are inherently evil or have malicious intentions upon the living nor do I believe in coincidence. I have little doubt that, should Danny actually die and/or be killed, he will become the most powerful ghost in all of the Ghost Zone and may very well earn the mantle of the Ghost King.

As for Jacque himself, well my dear friend Chrome already made the accurate guess as to who, and _what_, he really is but I'll say it plainly here and now. Several lifetimes ago when the people of the British isles were still called the celts, before the soldiers of Rome trampled them and their "pagan" beliefs, they was born an Incarnation of Death, a Harvester of Souls, a Lord of the Autumn Harvest, and Ruler of the Night. His name is recognized easily by those who know well of Halloween and its midnight horrors for he is not the first, and certainly not the last, of the spirits that best represent the holiday.

Samhain.

_The Cat Talisman_

An original talisman born from the tale of the Chinese Zodiac, the cat talisman is different compared to the others in that it is, for all intents and purposes, "alive". Its power is that of resurrection, bringing back the dead and enhancing them beyond the power they held in the prime of their life, including itself. In its current form, it inhabits the body of a nekomata, the "resurrected" form of Toshio's slain cat. By using up all of its powers, Nibi sacrificed itself to bring Jacque back to what he was always meant to be.


End file.
